Chapter 15
Chapter 15
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 15
Chapter Title: S1. The Prince, the Flower, and the Resistance -5
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If he weren't the prince.
Born without the mission to lead the empire's masses, without the noblest blood flowing through his veins...
Second Prince Irid had briefly entertained such what-ifs.
While patrolling the imperial capital, he'd heard a family's cheerful laughter spilling from a modest home. They had barely any wealth to speak of, and their strength amounted to little more than chopping firewood or wringing a chicken's neck.
How could they laugh like that, so joyfully? What was happening beyond the wall I couldn't see? Wasn't family just another word for rivals?
He'd quickly dismissed it as pointless rumination, but that tiny spark of curiosity had lodged in the corner of his mind like a stubborn wedge.
And now, he knew the answer.
The people beyond the wall... they were loving one another.
You were truly savoring moments of pure happiness. Who could have predicted it? Days so heartwarming they'd fill you up, coming from a future a century away.
For Beer and Song, you and Centra chipped away at the project step by step. Revising lyrics to spread among the bards, stashing fireworks around Crown Hall to heighten the mood.
"We should put one on the church steeple too."
"It's right in the city center—great view, too."
"Mind if I tag along again?"
"Of course! Outings with you are fun, Irid. Though... you're getting pretty bold about holding me these days?"
"........."
You even enjoyed a romantic date complete with a grappling gun.
It wasn't an exaggeration to call it a date. Though unspoken, every time your eyes met Centra's, a strange tension hung in the air. At one point, you held that gaze for a full ten seconds, as if entranced.
"......I win the staring contest!"
Centra tried to play it off as a joke, but even a fool could see her ears burning bright red.
Still, neither of you crossed that line. Even as you pulled her close under the pretext of the grappling gun, feeling each other's heartbeats resonate soul-deep.
The clock tattoo on your wrist was urging your return. The inevitable farewell loomed.
Knowing the higher you soared, the harder the fall would hurt, you kept your distance. At the very least... you wanted to make Beer and Song a success, to see Centra smile wide one more time. That's what you thought.
You gathered manpower, spread rumors to build quiet anticipation among the citizens. Something fun was bound to happen at the Founding Festival.
This would open their hearts. They'd chalk it up to some clever prank, sing along to peaceful tunes over good beer.
The more you spread the word, the slimmer the odds of failure became. If even a little changed after the song... that would be enough.
Time flew by, as swift as it was joyful.
The Resistance's core members gathered at the inn for Beer and Song.
There were mercenaries you'd never seen before, guardsmen, even beggars from the streets. So many still clung to memories of the old empire.
But it seemed their ways of reminiscing differed.
Half the Resistance bore a sense of mission or goodwill in their eyes—a serene sunset hue. They gazed at Centra with hope for the future.
The other half harbored a murky crimson. The kind that wrinkled your nose with the stench of blood.
"Kolchis, you bastard. Been a while since I last saw your ugly mug!"
"Figured you'd mellowed out lately, but nope—same old Ronya! Hah hah ha! So, you really doing this idiot plan? Huh?"
"Gotta follow through. Centra's the leader."
"Hah hah! Yeah, orders from the boss!"
Their eyes weren't on Centra—they were fixed on their own group.
The hardliners of the Resistance. Vengeful ghosts craving payback against the Kingdom Alliance through force. Those who'd lost family to war. Their movements were ominous.
Reviewing the documents, you knew. As you'd noticed before, they weren't just stockpiling daily goods—they were amassing weapons. They were primed to spill blood at any moment.
You informed Centra of this.
"And yet they showed up for the strategy meeting. Their angle's obvious. If Beer and Song flops, they'll claim peace changes nothing and seize control from you."
"Will it mess up the plan?"
"I never expected full enthusiasm. As long as they don't sabotage it outright, we'll be fine. We can handle minor interference... and this Resistance owes much to your father's influence. They won't turn outright hostile against you."
"Good enough, then. No time to convince them anyway... and you promised to watch over me, right, Irid?"
"The plan."
"Yeah, the plan."
You briefed the key players on the operation flow, assigned roles. Prepared supplies, boosted morale. If the goddess of fate rolled the dice, your efforts would nudge the numbers higher.
The finale approached.
Beer and Song was 30 minutes away.
Your return... was even closer.
The clock tattoo on your wrist showed no precise numbers—just a vague marker. By your calculations, there should be some leeway, but you couldn't predict the exact end.
Ideal if you could stay till the operation's close. But if not... this might truly be your last moment with her.
So, you mustered a bit more courage.
"Centra."
"...Yes, Irid?"
"Would you... join me for a cup of tea?"
"...Pfft!"
Yes, you summoned just a smidge more courage. Tea time over a farewell kiss or embrace. Still, it seemed to charm Centra.
Wasn't that the brightest smile?
"Hah, hee hee... I shouldn't laugh..."
"........."
"N-not teasing! It's just... you're so cute. Is that rude?"
"Very."
"Sorry. How about I invite you to my room? Forgive my manners?"
You forgave her swiftly. With Centra, you felt ten times more lenient than usual.
Just like that first meeting.
Centra took your hand and led you. Drawn once more to her warmth.
Her room was humble. Tiny space, a bed dominating one corner, a small desk stacked with manuscript paper. Books like How to Be a Leader, The Leader Speaks: Eleven Ways to Persuade Your Subordinates. A single rosemary sprig in a modest vase.
Her scent hung thick in the air.
"I'll brew it right up!"
Thump thump. Your heart raced like your whole body was vibrating. While Centra prepared the tea, you fidgeted, leg bouncing uncontrollably. A habit you'd beaten at seven under the strict headmaid's rod.
No room for a table, so you sat side by side on the bed. Close enough that your shoulders brushed with every shift.
Then Centra leaned her head on your shoulder. A pleasant weight. It was wondrous how such a simple act could spark joy.
Silence fell.
Not uncomfortable in the least. You conversed through shared warmth, weight, atmosphere, scent... and souls. No words needed.
Tick. Tock. Tick.
The clock's hands echoed in your ears. Your heart sank. Instinct screamed: you had to go.
As you opened your mouth for a final goodbye—
Knock knock knock.
The door was rapped.
"Coming!"
Centra rose from the bed. Five steps to the door, her finger slowly grasping the handle. To you, it all played out in slow motion.
Tick. Tock.
Centra opened the door. No one beyond. She peeked left and right down the hall.
An inexplicable dread gripped you, body trembling.
Something was off.
Resistance. Young leader inheriting her father's authority. Killing her and usurping the role would turn half the group against you.
But if she died... by the 'Kingdom Alliance's' hand?
If the young leader preaching peace and love met a tragic end at the 'Kingdom Alliance's' hands, even her peaceful half would draw swords.
And that... was the radicals' dream scenario.
You couldn't let her go out.
Your mouth moved agonizingly slow. You screamed dozens, hundreds of times in your mind—please, don't go—but the pleas echoed hollow within.
Centra turned left. A window at the hall's end. She spotted something, walked that way. Step. Step. She vanished from view.
Please, let it be unfounded fear. Delusion. Paranoia. You prayed desperately in frozen time.
Tick.
And then.
BOOM!!
Explosion. Shattering debris, black smoke billowing in the shockwave.
Blind in the smoke, you chased the lingering rosemary scent with your eyes.
And then.
Blink.
"You're awake, Your Highness. I hope you enj—"
Second Prince Irid seized the mage by the collar and slammed him against the wall. Raw mana surged through the prince's body, blood tears streaming from overuse.
At that instant, the Violet Magic Tower Master and the boy knight moved.
The boy knight drew his blade. The sheer force tore the tower wall, revealing the dreary rainy sky.
The Violet Magic Tower Master conjured water droplets at her fingertips. Resonating orbs deceived the world, warping space itself.
But Second Prince Irid paid it no mind. That wasn't what mattered.
Ignoring the dissolving illusions and shredding sword strikes, Irid desperately bellowed at the dimensional mage.
"Send me back to that world—NOW—!!"