Joint Investigation (1)
“I still can’t seem to get used to this.”
“You must endure it, Your Highness.”
Fifteen days. To some it might have felt like an eternity, but for the First Prince, Louis Ruard, the past month had passed far more swiftly than any ordinary fortnight.
The swordsmanship guided by the knight Arsen grew sharper with each passing day. Conversations with him about martial arts and life itself had broadened Louis’s insight and perspective in ways he had never anticipated.
“...It feels like it’s time to stop.”
“Hold for another thirty seconds, Your Highness.”
The training grew more merciless with every lesson. It was grueling, yet Louis endured. Perhaps the knight called Arsen had grown accustomed to him over their increasing hours together; only that familiarity could explain why he pushed him so hard.
He no longer knew when the training he had begun as a mere hobby had transformed into this.
“Ugh.”
Thanks to it all, Louis was drenched in sweat, working muscles he rarely used. At that moment he held a prone position supported only by his elbows and toes. When Arsen had first demonstrated the posture, Louis had thought it looked simple. He wanted to strike his past self for that naivety.
It must have been thirty seconds by now.
With that silent protest, Louis shot a glare at Maxim. His abdominal muscles and back trembled violently. His teeth clenched on their own. Sweat streamed down his forehead and cheeks, darkening the ground beneath him.
Arsen’s expression remained unchanged. He was not standing idly by; he held the exact same posture, leaving Louis with no grounds for complaint.
“Five more seconds.”
“Damn it.”
A rare curse slipped from the prince’s lips.
The instructing knight counted the five seconds aloud with calm indifference, offering Louis a sliver of hope.
“Five, four, three…”
“Five seconds feels awfully slow.”
Whether it was his own perception or whether Arsen was deliberately dragging out the count, Louis could not tell. His voice had begun to shake as he spoke.
“Two…”
Three full seconds crawled by between “two” and “one.” Only then did the word “one” finally leave Arsen’s mouth.
Before Maxim could offer any praise, the First Prince dropped to his knees and exhaled sharply.
“You truly… make me suffer… like this.”
“Thank you for your hard work, Your Highness.”
Arsen—no, Maxim—had already risen and begun stretching as though the exertion had been nothing.
At the sound of approaching footsteps, he narrowed his eyes and turned toward the courtyard entrance.
“Don’t you think this is a bit excessive?”
“We trained the same way. What’s the problem?”
“What I mean is that training His Highness the way we trained is excessive, Denis.”
The pair chatting as they entered were Maxim’s seniors, Denis and Charlotte. As the First Prince rose to his feet, they placed their hands over their hearts and bowed deeply—an etiquette reserved exclusively for the knights of the First Royal Guard, who served only the King as their sovereign.
“Have you been well, Your Highness?”
Louis inwardly mocked the question—does this look like I’ve been well?—yet accepted their greeting with humble grace.
“Indeed. What brings you both all the way here? Surely you haven’t come to spy on whether I’ve grown tired of swordsmanship and am still performing adequately.”
Denis smiled and shook his head.
“I am glad to witness it myself, but we’ve come to borrow Sir Arsen Bern for a short while, Your Highness. May we temporarily take your sword instructor?”
“Take him whenever you wish. After all, his original post is with you—the Royal Guard under His Majesty.”
“That may be so, but it would be best if Your Highness heard this matter as well.”
Maxim moved toward Denis and Charlotte at Louis’s nod.
Denis turned to him, his expression now gravely serious.
“It appears the palace has convened a meeting of high officials. Only a handful of key figures, led by Count Benning, are participating. It is not a regular session; there seems to be a single agenda. The fact that information reached our Royal Guard this late suggests the other side moved with considerable speed.”
Maxim frowned. Louis’s face hardened.
“This was not His Majesty’s desire. The meeting was called at the insistence of his subjects.”
Was this the Benning family’s pressure, meant to check the King’s recent movements? Maxim asked with his eyes.
“The likelihood is high. However, it seems His Majesty had prepared something of his own this time.”
Denis smiled, as if to say there was no need for excessive worry. The First Prince, by contrast, remained silent, his expression rigid as he listened.
“...Your Highness?”
Denis’s voice carried concern as he addressed the prince’s unnaturally stiff face.
“Is there truly no way to learn what agenda was discussed?”
“...Surprisingly, one resolution received the joint approval of both Count Benning and His Majesty. That is all I was able to discover.”
Both the First Prince and Maxim colored with confusion.
Denis turned to Maxim as though making an excuse.
“Like I said, that’s truly all I could learn. Really.”
“...Then why else have you come? There must be more to it than simply delivering that news.”
Louis asked cautiously.
Denis gave a light nod, confirming the prince’s suspicion.
“His Majesty wishes to see Arsen Bern separately. That is why I came to fetch him.”
Maxim’s expression tightened with tension.
“Has His Majesty issued orders to the entire Royal Guard? Or is this a personal mission directed at me alone?”
“Likely the latter. I’ve heard nothing about our order receiving separate instructions.”
Denis frowned as he regarded Maxim.
“He did say he would summon us and give us additional orders this time…”
Additional orders? Maxim’s brows furrowed. The King’s earlier words about cutting off their limbs echoed in his mind.
“Understood.”
Maxim turned to Louis as if seeking permission. The prince nodded in approval.
Charlotte looked Maxim up and down—his clothes filthy with dirt and sweat—and let out a sigh.
“Change into your uniform. We’ll meet in the corridor leading to the office.”
With those final words, Denis and Charlotte departed the courtyard.
An awkward silence settled over the training grounds, as though a storm had just passed through.
“We’ll end here for today. Hurry and prepare yourself for His Majesty’s summons.”
The usual warmth was absent from Louis’s voice as he gave the order. Maxim offered no further questions and simply bowed.
“I shall obey.”
The First Prince watched Maxim’s retreating back and exhaled heavily.
The precarious balance within the palace was beginning to fracture. The day a bloody wind would sweep through the royal capital was drawing near. Whether that wind would strike the throne room, the palace he shared with the First Princess, or the Second Prince’s residence remained unknown.
Louis’s gaze turned toward the direction of Michelle’s palace.
Will that child escape the storm? Can she be kept safe from these fierce currents?
He did not want to resent the King who had drawn Michelle into this. The man was too distant a figure for resentment. Louis knew him far too little. Therefore, he had to stand alone. To protect her without resentment or regret, he alone had to be enough.
The wooden sword remained in Louis’s hand. A month of training had strengthened those once-unreliable hands. Calluses had begun to form, bit by bit.
He closed his eyes, then opened them. Following his instructor’s teachings, he attempted to assume the basic stance.
Shoulders. Arms. Legs.
Without guidance it was difficult to hold the form correctly. The sword tip wavered. Everything within the prince’s vision began to tremble along with it.
Steady.
Repeating the word to himself, Louis swung the blade downward in a vertical cut. The crooked, crude strike left a long scar across the empty air.
Again.
His sword drew shapes that could scarcely be called proper forms.
Again.
Louis gritted his teeth and swung until the path he traced in the air finally began to resemble true swordsmanship.
Michelle. Thinking of his younger sister and her sorrowful eyes, Louis clenched his jaw and continued.
“You looked like you were having quite a pleasant time. Meanwhile the rest of us have been running our feet raw carrying out the missions and secret orders His Majesty assigned.”
The first words Maxim heard upon reuniting with his seniors were Denis’s envious grumble.
Charlotte’s pitying stare in response had become so routine it might as well have been part of the daily schedule.
“I think Arsen is far better suited than you to be His Highness’s instructor.”
“Don’t make such a cowardly comparison using skill. These things are supposed to be decided by seniority.”
“Anyone listening would think you were the most veteran knight here.”
The location where the King had summoned them was not the usual secluded office reserved for discreetly calling the Royal Guard, but the central office within the palace itself.
Denis and Charlotte, who had been exchanging light banter, fell silent the moment they stepped into the corridor leading to the office.
“The atmosphere is positively murderous.”
Correction—Denis still possessed enough leisure to offer one last remark.
The soldiers guarding the office entrance flinched at the sight of the approaching crimson uniforms and quickly stepped aside.
“His Majesty has ordered that any knight of the Guard is to be admitted without delay.”
The most senior-looking soldier held the door as he spoke.
Anyone watching would think he was threatening us with a blade to open it faster.
Denis’s quiet mutter was promptly cut off by Charlotte’s firm step on his foot, transforming into a short, stifled yelp.
The massive doors opened without a sound.
The scene beyond caused Maxim’s face to harden with intensity. Denis’s perpetual smile turned icy. Charlotte’s mouth twisted in displeasure.
At the office table sat the King, as expected. Behind him stood the captain of the Royal Guard. Facing them was a single figure whose presence here was utterly out of place.
Leon Benning.
The man standing at the heart of the kingdom’s chaos—no, the chaos itself—sat across from the King, a single armored knight at his side.
No overt killing intent could be felt, yet the suffocating tension pressed down on the entire chamber.
“Knights, enter without delay.”
The King’s voice jolted the three frozen figures into motion. They knelt and offered their respects in unison.
“We greet Your Royal Majesty.”
Their voices merged into one and echoed through the office.
Under normal circumstances the King would have dismissed the formalities and told them to rise, but today he maintained every ounce of his royal dignity and received them as a true monarch.
“Rise.”
He said nothing more.
The three knights stood. Maxim felt a sticky, inorganic gaze latch onto him—Leon Benning’s stare. He knew that unpleasant sensation all too well.
Even as Maxim rose, the Count’s eyes dissected every movement, piercing straight through him.
“Now that everyone is assembled, let us address the main topic. Arsen Bern, Denis Roy, Charlotte Lavin. You three will undertake a secret mission. Count Benning will explain the details, so listen carefully. Count?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Leon Benning answered with chilling composure. Even surrounded by knights radiating pressure, he looked as though he might scoff at any moment.
“The Magic Tower.”
Maxim’s shoulders twitched at the words that left the Count’s mouth.
“Ominous rumors have been circulating of late. Whispers of secret experiments. Accusations that research funds have been embezzled and ledgers falsified.”
As though carving away at his own flesh, the Count continued in a detached tone. Maxim fought to keep his expression neutral. What scheme is he plotting that he would willingly join such a plan?
“During the meeting of high officials, I expressed the opinion that we should seize this opportunity to conduct a thorough inspection of the Magic Tower.”
“Would a large-scale inspection based solely on suspicion not invite backlash?” Denis asked.
Leon Benning shook his head.
“We have already secured the relevant ledgers.”
“...The very ledgers the Magic Tower supposedly manipulated?”
“Presenting them should prevent any significant resistance. Should they resist anyway, we simply push through with force.”
Silence fell.
Everyone appeared to be contemplating Leon Benning’s true intentions. The Count was the first to break it, sweeping his gaze across them.
“The decision to inspect the Magic Tower was already finalized during the meeting. There is no need to revisit it. You need only follow His Majesty’s selection.”
The Count’s presumptuous manner made the knights frown with discomfort. This time Charlotte spoke.
“Then, Count, do you intend to mobilize no personnel of your own for this investigation?”
“Why would you assume that? Have I not already brought one person with me?”
Leon Benning gestured toward the knight standing behind him.
“A single knight should suffice for the necessary force. Since this is a joint investigation, we had no choice but to include you as well.”
The dismissive attitude toward the Royal Guard knights caused their expressions to harden. But Maxim reacted differently.
His eyes widened in shock as he stared at the knight guarding the Count’s back.
Even against the combined pressure of two elite knights, the man stood utterly unfazed. Maxim could not afford to look away. He could not see where the gaze behind that helmet was directed, but lowering his guard for even an instant would be fatal.
The hand not gripping a sword. The breathing. The prepared stance. The tension and relaxation of every muscle.
This time, Maxim understood that Leon Benning’s words were no empty boast.