The Prince and the Princess (5)
“Impossible….”
The words slipped from the Second Prince’s lips like a choked scream. Dozens of thoughts raced through his mind, colliding and shattering like glass.
“It can’t be….”
Paola Simon, Vice Commander of the Raven Knight Order, was a formidable knight. His strength went far beyond crude power. The Second Prince had observed their training sessions several times and understood this clearly. Aside from their commander, Theodora Benning, with her inhuman prowess, no one in the Raven Knight Order could truly stand against him. Even the knights of the Third Guard who had sparred with him out of curiosity had all failed to defeat Paola Simon.
In every match, Paola secured perfect victories—not through mere differences in mana depth or physical strength, but through superior skill and experience.
“Kyle?”
The First Prince’s voice never reached the Second Prince. The betrayal of his expectations had frozen his thoughts entirely. His fists clenched and unclenched, still feeling the grip of a sword hilt that was no longer there. Once again, the Second Prince’s face went blank, as if possessed. Brother. I. The throne. Knight. Strange words drifted through the air. The Second Prince himself had neither heard them nor realized he had spoken them.
The Second Prince grimaced and staggered. He let out a breath. Before long, he was berating his guards again. His emotions shifted as abruptly as a waterfall’s plunge. Confusion swirled into rage in the space of a heartbeat. Because of this, no one noticed anything amiss with the Second Prince—not Lione watching from a distance, not the First Prince, not even Paola, who had bowed his head in defeat.
“I know your skills well.”
The broken sentence fell from the Second Prince’s mouth. His rebuke was aimed at Paola. He had ordered the knight to cripple his opponent in the match, yet here Paola stood with his sword planted in the ground, having failed to carry out the command.
“Why did it turn out this way?”
The answer was obvious. Paola’s skill had simply fallen short of his opponent’s. But Paola did not say this. The only response that would end the situation quickly was to apologize.
“I am sorry.”
The First Prince did not approach. He was not so mired in defeat that he would gloat over victory, nor was his position secure enough to offer consolation to the loser. He simply called out the name once and waited, watching to see if the Second Prince would withdraw with his knights of his own accord.
That fact irritated the Second Prince even further.
He withdrew. Without a word, the Second Prince strode briskly out of the training ground. Paola followed with a sigh.
“…I’m sorry.”
The First Prince spoke to Paola. Paola stopped in his tracks, eyebrows rising in surprise at the apology, then shook his head.
“Kyle gets sensitive like this from time to time. Let us consider this matter closed. There is nothing for me to gain if the commotion grows any larger.”
Explaining his younger brother’s behavior that way, the First Prince let out a sigh.
“Why would Your Highness apologize? I merely followed my lord’s orders. Had the result been reversed, it seems my lord would not have apologized. Since you have declared the matter closed, there is no need for Your Highness to concern yourself at all.”
The First Prince smiled bitterly at Paola’s calm reply.
“…Kyle is fortunate. To have such an excellent knight.”
Paola chuckled lowly, as if he had heard something strange.
“The truly fortunate one is Your Highness. With a teacher whose skill I cannot even approach standing by your side, how can you possibly envy me?”
The First Prince turned toward his teacher. Those deep black eyes resembled a bottomless well. The hand gripping the wooden sword tightened unconsciously.
Paola looked up at Maxim, then abruptly extended his right hand for a handshake.
“It has been a long time since I enjoyed such a fine match.”
Maxim took Paola’s hand and shook it, nodding.
“I, too, was able to swing my sword with genuine enjoyment for the first time in a while.”
“If you had not been enjoying yourself, I suspect it would have ended much sooner.”
Paola then gestured toward Lione, who stood slightly apart, watching both Maxim and himself. Lione wore an expression of clear annoyance, knowing it was time to follow the Second Prince back.
“It was an excellent duel.”
Lione stood beside Paola and spoke to Maxim, offering a handshake. Maxim’s face showed confusion at why this person would insist on shaking hands, but he accepted it nonetheless. Though when he took Lione’s confidently extended hand, it trembled faintly.
“Thank you.”
Since someone with whom he had shared no real connection was initiating a handshake, he could only tilt his head in puzzlement. Lione, perhaps in a good mood, even smiled with upturned lips before following Paola.
The First Prince approached the bewildered Maxim.
“Seems he took a liking to your swordsmanship. She is quite a beautiful knight.”
To the First Prince’s murmur, Maxim could find no reply. But that person is a mage.
“…I see.”
Perhaps he liked the changed face. With that thought, Maxim gathered up his sword.
The First Prince instructed a servant to repair the training ground damaged during the match.
It was late at night in the Second Prince’s palace. Clouds hid the moon, leaving the sky dark. Desolate and raucous, the sound of wind sweeping through every corner of the streets could be heard. It was a night thieves loved. The night sky that cast no light on thieves served as a blackout curtain to hide them, while the wind that violently swept away dust and leaves was both their companion and the earplugs that masked their footsteps.
A thief and an owner who did not even know what had been stolen faced each other in the same room.
Leon Benning leaned back in his chair with inorganic ash-gray eyes. In a space untouched by moonlight or starlight, only those gray orbs gleamed with sharp intensity.
Clatter. Clatter. The windows rattled in the wind. Whish. Whish. The mocking wind slipping through the cracks seemed to taunt the Second Prince’s low groans as he clutched his head.
Whish. Whish.
In response, the Second Prince simply repeated someone’s name.
“Brother… Brother….”
The words were not directed at Count Benning. Like a madman, the Second Prince sat at the table, repeating the same phrase like a curse.
“Brother… the throne… Father… if told to the Count….”
The Count watched the Second Prince’s state from a distance. A figure approached him like a shadow. Literally, a black magician steeped in shadow.
The Second Prince’s unfocused eyes failed to register the person who had stepped beside the Count.
“His condition is unstable. It appears we will need to repeat the procedure.”
“The tower we built so carefully nearly collapsed.”
The Count replied indifferently. The black magician approached the Second Prince. Beneath the prince’s nightclothes, an ominous red light flickered.
Without any sense of blasphemy, the black magician grabbed the Second Prince by the nape and pulled it aside. What met the magician’s eyes was a vivid red brand that resembled a scar. Like a massive parasite, it greedily devoured the Second Prince’s mana, leaving only scraps behind while restoring its own glow.
“Still, the curse has begun to normalize. Maintaining it should not be a problem.”
Tsk. Leon Benning clicked his tongue. It looked as though he would have to stay up all night.
“After the brainwashing stabilized, why did he suddenly begin acting strangely? When he met with the magicians last time, did someone stimulate him with magic? You said the Second Prince would no longer exhibit abnormal behavior.”
The black magician immediately denied Leon Benning’s accusation.
“No, that is not the case. Who would dare risk their own neck by doing something so dangerous?”
Leon Benning let out a hearty laugh.
“Men who would offer not only their own necks but even their children’s without hesitation for the sake of their goals have tongues that spin as if oiled. This is why I despise those obsessed with magic. They resemble me. They always keep a knife hidden behind their backs.”
Sharp killing intent surged from Leon Benning. The black magician hurriedly retreated, shaking his head.
“It is truly not so. Even if, by some one-in-a-million chance, someone committed such an act, I can assert that no high-ranking member of the Magic Tower would do it.”
Leon Benning glared at the magician with narrowed eyes. The black magician’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed dryly.
“Asking you to bet your neck seems pointless when you would offer it so easily.”
“There is one possible cause for the abnormal behavior.”
Before the Count could press further, the black magician quickly offered his opinion.
“Speak.”
“By nature, brainwashing requires erasing memories that would interfere with forming the desired personality. However, when we cursed and brainwashed the Second Prince this time, we omitted that step, did we not?”
“Continue.”
The black magician swallowed again and went on. Leon Benning’s killing intent still held him firmly in its grasp.
“The brainwashing process does not create nonexistent memories. Instead, it distorts, exaggerates, and erases existing ones, twisting the already-formed personality to an extreme degree.”
“Yes. I know that well.”
The black magician waved his hands through the air as he explained.
“I suspect the Second Prince’s memories—those whose most interfering parts were not erased—collided with the distorted and exaggerated memories, causing a temporary error. My conclusion is that matters related to the key figures or memories of the brainwashing erupting all at once triggered the abnormal behavior.”
“So he has not yet abandoned his lingering attachment to his father? Or does this mean some brotherly affection remains toward the First Prince, who is not even a blood relative?”
“…I believe the possibility is sufficient.”
He had believed he had converted both brotherly love and parental attachment into dependence upon himself, yet if fragments remained, such an error was possible. Brainwashing and curses were not perfectly flawless. Confusion could arise.
The black magician added excuses and superfluous explanations, attempting to soothe Leon Benning’s anger.
“You know this, do you not? To avoid detection by those in the palace—especially the King, the First Prince, and the First Princess—we could not delete those memories…”
Leon Benning tapped the table. As the black magician said, avoiding detection by palace insiders required risking distortion rather than deletion. It was not an entirely unconvincing explanation.
“So the entanglement with the First Prince and the sword stimulated that fellow’s memories, manifesting in this sudden behavior. Enough to momentarily disrupt the curse and brainwashing.”
Calling the Second Prince “that fellow,” Leon Benning twisted the corner of his mouth upward.
“Yes. I believe that is the most likely cause.”
The Count closed his eyes as if convinced. Tap, tap. His fingers continued tapping the table without pause. The black magician wondered whether he could sigh in relief or if he should remain vigilant.
“I see. Prince… sword…”
“Yes. That is correct.”
At the words from the Count’s mouth, the black magician finally relaxed. The Count nodded. Tap, tap. Separately, his fingers kept drumming the table.
“This time, we will need to adjust it with greater care.”
The black magician agreed in a brightened voice.
“Yes. I will also pay closer attention and strengthen the curse’s binding.”
“However.”
Tap, tap. This was not the sound of the Count tapping the table. The black magician’s body suddenly felt empty, and then he collapsed to the floor.
“…!!”
“It has progressed quite far. You are nearly no longer human. It seems you feel little pain.”
The Count’s cold voice rang out. What had been severed were the left arm and right leg. From the clean cuts, instead of blood, a pitch-black, viscous liquid gurgled and flowed.
With a bewildered expression, the black magician looked up at the Count as he approached with heavy steps.
“Yes, but you know, shouldn’t we address what needs addressing?”
The black magician’s pupils trembled. A chilling cold began to fill the Second Prince’s bedroom.
The Count knelt before the fallen, flailing black magician.
“Did you think I would not have tested those memories myself? Lingering feelings for the King, memories and emotions regarding the First Prince and First Princess—elements that could interfere with all future matters. Did you believe I would not have tested them in advance? And you know the result, do you not?”
The black magician grew terrified of what the Count would say next.
“In no situation did it cause such tremendous confusion. To the point where the curse—my brainwashing—required resetting.”
The black magician’s eyes shifted from bewilderment to pure terror.
He knew. The black magician recalled words he could not utter aloud.
“Does the Magic Tower look down on me, or have I truly become a laughingstock?”
“No! Absolutely not!”
“Truly, you had more than enough chance to flee, yet it seems you are convinced I will not kill you.”
A terrible, terrible killing intent pressed down solely on the magician. Overwhelmed by the fear that his neck could be severed at any moment, the magician resisted to the very end. He could not speak a single word. The only thing the black magician could do against Leon Benning’s threat was to restrain himself from using magic while desperately clinging to his reason.
“You know that fleeing would only worsen the situation.”
Leon Benning grabbed the black magician by the hair and forcibly lifted his head. Trembling pupils met Leon Benning’s gaze.
“Then you must also know that sparing your life is not mercy, but my final warning to all of you.”
Even with his hair seized, the black magician desperately nodded by moving his neck.
“Go and deliver this message. I do not know who toyed with the Second Prince’s curse, but this matter will not end pleasantly.”
Benning spoke in a heavily oppressive voice. The cold filled the black magician’s throat, making even breathing difficult.
“At the very least, you had better prepare to create a few more Puppets.”
Hair snapped and broke from the seized scalp with audible cracks. Leon Benning threw the black magician to the floor as if discarding him. The pressure and killing intent surrounding the black magician faded. The shadow slowly enveloped and devoured the black magician, and he vanished—along with the blood he had spilled and his severed limbs.
Watching the scene, Leon Benning frowned slightly in displeasure.
“Brother… Father… the throne…”
“There was still some left.”
Leon Benning approached the Second Prince, who was still clutching his head and babbling incoherently. The Count reached toward the brand on the prince.
“Ugh…!”
The moment Leon Benning’s finger touched the brand, a pained cry burst from the Second Prince’s mouth. Yet the bedroom was enveloped in Leon Benning’s vast mana, blocking all sound and presence. There was no one to hear the scream.
“AAAAAGH!”
“Remember. Though you are the son of the legitimate wife, you were treated no differently from the First Prince, born of a concubine—no, from someone whose parents cannot even be identified.”
Leon Benning’s voice flowed into the prince’s mind. The Second Prince’s eyes rolled back white as his body convulsed.
The fundamental nature buried deep within the Second Prince’s heart was being amplified to its extreme by Leon Benning.
“You hate your father. You unleashed that hatred through the sword, and with that refined blade, you wish to claim the throne of this kingdom as your own someday.”
Leon Benning’s voice continued pouring into the Second Prince’s mind. Before long, the screams subsided. All that remained was Leon Benning’s quiet recitation.
“For that purpose, the one you must rely upon most is Count Leon Benning. If you simply listen to his words, everything will come to pass.”
“Everything… everything…”
The Second Prince’s lips quivered as he repeated the Count’s words. Soon the trembling ceased. The brand on the back of the Second Prince’s neck, which had been gleaming with ominous light, returned to its scar-like appearance.
“Hmm.”
The Count laid the unconscious Second Prince on the bed and looked down at him, brows furrowed. Events were beginning to unfold one by one outside his control.
I may need to prepare to move the Puppets.
The wind swept desolately past the window once more.
“I knew.”
The professor listening to the black magician’s report did not change his expression. The severed limbs had been reattached in a pale, limp state. It would still take time for the nerves to recover.
“You knew?”
“…That you briefly examined that brand.”
At the black magician’s report, the professor let out a hollow laugh.
“Well, that matter is finished now, so it is fine. There is no need to look any further, and provoking the Count’s mood any more than this would cause considerable trouble for us as well.”
Research funds for black magic. Experimental materials. There were many things they needed right now.
“…Do you truly intend to hide her until the very end?”
“I cannot say about the brainwashing, but if we place a suitable collar on her and have her participate in research, there is no magician more useful to exploit. If it comes to it, we can use her as a subject for magical experiments. You are not unaware that her mana is an exceptionally rare material.”
“…Of course.”
The black magician nodded. Turning a single genius. It was a value worth the risk that could be exchanged for merely a few Puppets.
The professor gazed at a magician enclosed within transparent glass walls.
“If that is discovered, the Count will undoubtedly go to any lengths to use her as a hostage.”
The professor smiled wryly. Beyond his vision, a blonde magician slept with her eyes closed.