Chapter 78
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 78
Near Nibelungen lay an oak forest, and nestled within it stood the Imperial Palace.
The gardens had been designed to preserve the forest as much as possible, merely trimming it here and there. Its natural beauty shone far brighter than any artificial design could. This was said to reflect the tastes of the fifth emperor, Bellator I, who had built the palace.
Rickert was staying at the far edge of the palace as a guest. The corridors he walked were lined with massive tapestries celebrating the history of the imperial family. Woven lavishly with gold, silver, red, and purple threads, they were incredibly splendid. The heroes of the past, at least within these weavings, still stood proud and majestic.
One tapestry depicted Caldebert holding his sword high. Before him lay a pile of barbarian corpses, rendered entirely in crimson thread.
“What happened to that tattered red cloak of yours?” someone asked from beside him. The tone was laced with sarcasm.
Rickert turned. He had been standing in the middle of the corridor, admiring the tapestry. A young swordsman dressed in light attire stood there, a longsword hanging from his waist. He had striking features, with long eyelashes and dark hair slicked to one side, shining as if wet. A single ruby earring dangled from his ear, glinting in the light.
“Who are you?” Rickert asked, genuinely having no idea.
The young swordsman smirked. “Riberio di Bonatelli. Back home, they call me ‘Water-skipping Riberio.’ You’d do well to remember it, Red Cloak. Though, I must say, your nickname sounds rather cheap. Where I come from, red fabric isn’t nearly as rare as it is among your impoverished folk.”
Judging by his name, he was from a distant southern country, or perhaps the Republic. In any case, he was another participant in the tournament. Rickert had no idea what the man wanted. He could tell he was being mocked, but he didn’t feel particularly angry.
Northerners were straightforward. If they wanted a fight, they would curse you openly or challenge you to a brawl. Because of this, Rickert truly couldn’t comprehend what this man hoped to achieve with his veiled insults.
“Ah, yes… I see.”
“The Nine Swords of the Empire is just a title thrown around by ignorant peasants. If you happen to take pride in it, I’m here to tell you it means absolutely nothing.”
“I’ll worry about that myself,” Rickert replied nonchalantly.
Riberio smirked again. “Stay humble. That is, if you don’t want to cut your life short.”
With those words, Riberio walked past, his boots clicking on the floor. A brief tension hung in the air as they brushed past each other, but Rickert remained perfectly calm, neither tensing up nor letting his guard down. Soon, Riberio opened a door, stepped into the next corridor, and vanished.
The renowned swordsmen who had been invited directly without needing to pass the preliminaries were all staying at the Imperial Palace. Riberio was one of them.
Rickert had no interest in how the other swordsmen spent their days, but some things were impossible not to overhear. The swordsmen at the palace were largely divided into two groups. The first were those who attended banquets every day, currying favor with the princes and forming factions.
The Empress had borne eight children. The eldest son had died young, leaving the current Emperor’s nine-year-old grandson as the Crown Prince. The second child, the eldest daughter, had married into a distant kingdom, while the third child, the second son, served as a count and direct vassal far from the palace. Although he was second in the line of succession, he had shut himself away in his castle, cutting off all contact.
This left the fourth child down to the youngest still at the palace: three princes and two princesses. The oldest of these princes was fifteen, having just reached adulthood, while the youngest was six. Any other princes or princesses were legitimized children from other mothers. Though they shared a father, there was a world of difference between them and the children born to the Empress.
Word was that the fourth child, the Third Prince, associated closely with the swordsmen. Whether this was due to ambition or simple sociability was unclear. Thus, the palace guests were largely divided into the Crown Prince’s faction and the Third Prince’s faction. Amusingly, the lords of the Empire had been split along these same lines for a long time. The palace was a miniature version of the empire’s political landscape.
However, Empress Dowager Barsilia, the mother of the current Emperor, led the Crown Prince’s faction and dominated the political scene. On the surface, the Crown Prince’s faction held the clear advantage.
The other group of swordsmen, which included Rickert, were those who kept to themselves and ignored the factions completely. Riberio belonged to the Third Prince’s faction and was apparently quite close to him. Perhaps that was why he was so full of himself, throwing useless remarks at Rickert as he passed.
Deciding he had spent enough time standing in the corridor, Rickert stopped looking at the tapestries, retrieved his sword from his room, and headed outside.
He passed through a modest courtyard and out the main gate, where the fresh forest air felt like a cool wash for his lungs. The forest was filled with centuries-old oaks, some of which had grown into such peculiar shapes they felt like magnificent works of art. One looked as if it had been split in half long ago, only for each side to continue growing independently. Damp moss, brimming with life, clung to the trees.
Walking through the rustling forest, one could easily get lost. Ranger outposts were scattered here and there, but they weren’t actively monitoring anyone. Their primary duty was to ward off wild beasts and tend to this forest-garden; they were both gardeners and rangers.
Since Rickert disliked banquets, he had little to do but take walks. When he grew bored, he would occasionally head into the city for a bit before returning. It was always entertaining if he stumbled upon a brawl. Still, he spent most of his time idling away the hours on walks.
Despite the imperial knight’s warning when he first arrived, the palace didn’t seem all that dangerous. Perhaps because he had no reason to get involved with the princes, he lived a leisurely life.
At least, for now.
“Hey there, swordsman.”
Someone called out from above his head. Rickert looked up to see a boy sitting on a thick branch of an old oak tree, looking down at him. He looked to be about ten years old—the same age Rickert had been when he left home. Judging by his attire, however, he was clearly one of the princes. He wore a purple tunic embroidered with gold thread depicting the sacred oak, the imperial crest.
“Yes, Your Highness,” Rickert replied.
“What is your name?”
“I am Ricky.”
“Is that so? Hmm, I haven’t heard of you.”
“With respect, I do not know Your Highness’s name either.”
“What? Hahaha, I suppose that’s fair. I am Bellator. I share my name with my great-great-great-grandfather, who built this palace.”
He seemed to be the fifth or sixth prince.
“I see. It seems Bellator I truly understood beauty, preserving the forest in its original state without cutting down the ancient trees.”
“I think so too. Though, this is the first time I’ve met someone who shares my thoughts.”
Despite his young age, the boy mimicked the speech of an adult and smiled faintly. He slowly climbed down from the tree. His expensive clothes were snagged and soiled with dirt, but Bellator didn’t seem to mind in the least. Once on the ground, the top of his head barely reached Rickert’s neck.
Technically, the boy was Marie’s half-brother. Perhaps because of that, Bellator had bright blonde hair and skin as white as snow, just like her. He was also an uncle to the current Crown Prince.
“I am carrying a weapon. This does not seem like an appropriate setting,” Rickert said, holding his sword. For a prince to meet a stranger like this without an escort was a serious safety hazard.
“So, will you harm me?”
“No.”
“Then that is fine. You shall be my escort.”
Rickert’s eyes widened slightly. Was the boy bold or just fearless? When it came to fearlessness, almost no one could match Rickert. Had living in the palace made him completely oblivious to danger? To Rickert, who had survived the harsh wilderness, the prince seemed utterly naive.
Bellator strolled slowly through the forest, his hands clasped behind his back. Though dumbfounded, Rickert followed.
“Where are we going?”
“To see the witch. I was curious, but I felt it wasn’t my place to interfere before. Now that I have an escort, surely I can go.”
“The witch?”
“Yes, Martelia. My half-sister.”
Rickert’s brow furrowed. “Why is Marie a witch?”
“Marie?”
“Marie and I are close friends from our academy days.”
“Is that so? I didn’t know. I heard my sister was attending the academy, but since my brothers and the Crown Prince all call her a witch, I spoke without thinking. Please forgive my thoughtless words.”
The boy apologized so readily that the anger rising in Rickert quickly subsided.
“No, please don’t worry about it. But has Marie been here all along?”
“You didn’t know? She has been staying at Irmin Castle for the past two weeks. Since she is the prize of the tournament, she must be kept under special care, must she not?”
Two weeks ago would have been about a week before Rickert arrived. They had reached the palace at almost the same time. Still, the word “prize” grated on his ears.
“A prize? That’s going too far.”
“Hmm? Why?” Bellator asked, his reaction showing no malice.
“Marie is not a caged bird, and she is certainly not an object. She is a human being. How can her fate be decided without any regard for her own will?”
“I suppose one could look at it that way. I had no idea. How interesting.” Having grown up seeing people treated only as tools, Bellator was encountering this common-sense perspective for the very first time. “Does that mean all humans possess free will?”
“Of course. When God created humanity, He did not separate nobles from commoners. The division exists because each has a role. Nobles have a duty to protect, while commoners have a duty to work their trades and protect their families. By joining forces, they can fend off even the mightiest of enemies. Just as the first emperor defeated the Salamans and crushed the Orcs.”
“Hmm… Is that so? Perhaps. Thank you for speaking so honestly, Ricky. Others either flatter me or ignore me entirely. But you speak with true sincerity.”
“I only speak what my father taught me—that a man must value honesty as much as his own life.”
“How envious. I have never heard such things from His Majesty, my father.”
Though his situation was better than that of the illegitimate children, as a son of the Empress, he was just as starved for his father’s attention.
“…”
Rickert had nothing to say to that. Life as a prince was far more difficult than he had imagined. He felt a pang of pity. The boy was, after all, still just a child. Furthermore, Bellator was the Fifth Prince, with three older brothers and a nephew—the Crown Prince—ahead of him in the line of succession. He possessed virtually no power. It seemed the imperial family was no different from any other in neglecting the sons who had no hope of succession. The only difference was that, for the sake of imperial dignity, they were dressed up like pretty dolls.
Yet Bellator didn’t seem to care about power. He showed no greed. He was like a child who played well on his own, even if no one paid him any attention.
With his hands clasped behind his back, he continued walking. The path began to slope upward, and a defensive tower built on a low hill came into view. It was a thick cylinder with a sharp, conical roof. It looked too flimsy to be called a castle; in the distant past, when labor was scarce, fortifications were often built on this scale. Over time, such structures were usually rebuilt or expanded, but Irmin Castle seemed to have been abandoned long ago.
Vines grew wildly over the walls. Because it was built for defense, its windows were small and narrow. It looked like a prison. And that was where Marie was.
A group of about twenty people was gathered around the tower. The clear leaders were the young Crown Prince and the Third Prince. The rest were attendants or swordsmen from the tournament.
“Hey! Witch! Show your face!” the Crown Prince shouted, calling his own aunt a witch. He picked up a stone and threw it at a window, but it fell far short.
The Third Prince sneered. “It is my turn now, Your Highness.”
The Crown Prince huffed, but perhaps because the Third Prince was older, he didn't argue. The Third Prince selected a suitable stone and tossed it. The height was right, but his aim was off. The stone simply struck the wall and fell. It seemed they were betting on who could make Marie look out the window.
“My turn!” the Crown Prince declared, stepping up again as soon as the Third Prince missed.
But one of the men with a sword at his waist spoke up. “Your Highness, may I try? Since I am your servant, my success would be your success.”
“Huh? Hmm…” The Crown Prince looked from the stone in his hand to the high window. Even he had to admit it was too high for him. “Fine, go ahead.”
“Hold on,” a swordsman from the Third Prince’s side interjected with a frown. “This is a contest between His Highness the Crown Prince and the Prince. Do not interfere so recklessly.”
It looked like a children’s game was dragging in the adults.
“I have just received His Highness’s permission,” the first swordsman retorted. “Are you objecting to the Crown Prince’s will?”
“…Tch.”
Even if only in name, the Crown Prince was the future Emperor. The Third Prince’s man backed down.
The Third Prince placated him smoothly. “It is fine. I only worry that you might suffer on my account.”
“Your Highness…”
Being older, the Third Prince was better at handling people than the Crown Prince, but his sincerity was glaringly absent. He was putting on a clumsy act.
The Crown Prince’s swordsman took a stone, and infusing it with mana, threw it toward the castle window. The stone flew like a flash of lightning, shooting precisely through the opening and bouncing off the ceiling with a sharp clack.
“Oh!” the Crown Prince exclaimed, visibly delighted. To the swordsmen who could manipulate mana, it was a trivial feat, but they felt a pang of jealousy at the boy’s reaction. I could do that too. I could have smashed it to pieces.
Yet Marie did not appear.
At this, someone from the Third Prince’s side stepped forward, holding a dagger. It was Water-skipping Riberio.
“I shall act as your champion as well, Your Highness.”
Throwing stones was one thing—a mischievous prank. A blade was another. If it ricocheted incorrectly, it could cause serious injury. No one seemed to care how Marie felt. They didn’t care if she got hurt. Their only concern was currying favor with the princes.
Riberio smiled confidently, leaning back slightly to aim at the window of Irmin Castle. He activated his Mana Drive and threw the dagger.
But mid-flight, a stone shot from the trees and struck the dagger, knocking it off course.
Clang!
The crowd gasped. Every swordsman spun to look in the direction the stone had come from.
It was Rickert. Glaring with fury, he spoke. “Stop this.”
The crowd stared back, some bewildered, others offended. But regardless of their expressions, Rickert strode forward and stood before the castle, blocking their path. It was as if a single man was trying to protect a massive fortress.
“Stop this idiotic bullshit,” Rickert said again. It was a clear warning.
“Who are you?” the Third Prince asked with a deep frown, while the young Crown Prince merely blinked in confusion.
A question from a prince. Depending on his answer, Rickert could face severe punishment. Even if people called the princes bastards behind their backs, no one dared speak so recklessly to their faces. How should he answer? Grovel and beg them to stop? Plead for forgiveness?
Neither. Filled with rage, Rickert drew his sword and roared, looking as proud and majestic as the heroes of old depicted in the tapestries.
“I am Rickert of House Caldebern of Stormherz! By my right as a noble, I challenge anyone who threatens this castle to a duel!”
Aside from his closest friends, this was the first time Rickert had publicly revealed his name and lineage. Startled by his powerful shout, the Third Prince instantly shut his mouth.
The roar thundered past the high window and echoed into the castle beyond.