A Duel Request
Duke Randert was a hero of the empire — a man who had, in many ways, saved the Emperor himself. When word first reached him that the Duke's son was frail and sickly, the Emperor had felt genuine pity, parent that he was to children of his own.
Still, seeing him in person, he hardly seems to be in any grave condition.
Though there was much he wished to ask, the Emperor never once breathed a word about Bayul's health from the moment they met.
"I hear you entered the Academy this year."
"Yes, Your Majesty. I am studying public administration."
"Administration, is it? Do you find it interesting?"
"It is difficult at times — my abilities fall short — but I am enjoying my days there with my friends."
"And what do you intend to do once you graduate?"
The sudden question caught Bayul completely off guard. It was something he had never once considered.
"Haha. From the way you've gone stiff, I take it you've never given it any thought."
"...I beg your pardon, Your Majesty."
"No matter. You're only a first-year — my question leapt far ahead of you, I think."
The Emperor let out a hearty laugh, as if to say he understood completely.
"I asked only out of a hope that you would serve the Crown Prince well. And that goes not just for you, Bayul, but for all of you. Are you not the talents who will one day grow to lead this empire? The Crown Prince, too, will one day follow me to the throne. When that day comes, I would have you stand beside him and give him strength."
The Emperor boasted a constitution so robust that he seldom caught so much as a cold. His abdication was therefore a distant, distant prospect — and yet a father was still a father, it seemed, for he was already worrying over his son's future.
"I hear you've already exchanged greetings with the Crown Prince?"
As expected, the Emperor knew all about yesterday's affair. He turned his gaze toward Duke Hector and Marquis Drow.
"From what I hear from the Crown Prince, there was a small mishap. How are his injuries? I trust they've healed properly."
"Thanks to His Highness the Crown Prince's swift action, he came to no harm, Your Majesty. We beg forgiveness for causing an incident on the eve of such an auspicious occasion."
"An incident? Nonsense. It was an accident, nothing more. Who could have known something like that would come falling from the ceiling? It's a blessing indeed that he wasn't hurt badly."
With a few measured words, the Emperor swept the buzzing rumors away clean. There had been endless whispers — that the Crown Prince, enraged, had lashed out with his fists, that he had hurled something across the hall — but now the matter was settled beyond dispute. Whatever the truth of it, it would be recorded as an accident and nothing more.
"I needn't even ask which of these men is father to whom."
Jared and Cezario each resembled their fathers to a fault.
"You've both been through an ordeal. Rest assured — I have given them a personal warning so that nothing like yesterday ever happens again. If anything troubles you between now and the day you depart, do not hesitate to receive treatment at the temple."
"Your grace is boundless, Your Majesty."
Fire still smoldered in their chests, but this was neither the time nor the place to let it show. Jared and Cezario bowed with more immaculate courtesy than they had ever managed in their lives.
"Now then — Crown Prince, what would you like for your birthday this year?"
Every year on the Crown Prince's birthday, the Emperor bestowed lavish gifts upon him. But this year marked his coming of age, and he wished to grant whatever his son truly desired.
"You've always loved the bow — how would hunting grounds suit you?"
"Father, you already granted me Roilance Forest the year I turned fifteen."
"Ah, did I? Then what would you have instead? You're a man grown now — if there is something you want, speak it yourself."
"Anything at all?"
"So there is something you're after. Name it — whatever it is, you shall have it."
"Then I shall place my trust in you, Father, and speak plainly."
Seizing on the Emperor's promise, Crown Prince Lindemann spoke the words he had clearly been waiting to say.
"Grant your son the chance to broaden his horizons."
"His horizons?"
"Yes, Father. I hereby formally request, before this assembly, a sparring match with Duke Randert."
"What? A sparring match — with whom?"
Never in his life had the Emperor's voice risen so high. He stared at his son in open astonishment.
"Duke Randert — will you accept?"
Crown Prince Lindemann turned to face Duke Randert. At this wholly unexpected request, Bayul and every soul in the banquet hall froze, too stunned to speak. The only person who remained perfectly composed was the man himself — Duke Randert.
"Before I answer, I have a question for Your Highness. Could you withstand a single exchange with me?"
He had promised that the day Lindemann could manage it, he would spar with him whenever he wished. But that day had not yet come. To reach the Duke Randert's level was to be able to gauge an opponent's martial prowess with nothing more than a glance.
"...I suppose I couldn't, could I?"
When the demand could be made boldly, the Crown Prince tucked his tail at once.
"Then how about one of the Full Moon Knight Order? Is that also beyond you?"
The truth was, this had been his aim all along. For all his royal blood, a duel with Duke Randert — a man standing at the summit of Sword Meister — was beyond even his wildest hope. Skill aside, the honest truth was that he lacked the nerve to cross blades with the living legend of the empire.
And so he had lowered his sights. The Full Moon Knight Order was hardly made up of pushovers either, but he wanted to test himself against them, treating it as a lesson.
He was greedy, too, for a chance to measure his own ability against an opportunity this rare. He wanted to know how long he could hold his ground against the finest knight order in the empire.
"Can you accept the outcome, whatever it may be?"
"Even in defeat, I would count it an honor."
To duel the Full Moon Knight Order was the yearning of every swordsman alive. He had never once imagined he would win.
"I am speaking of the opposite."
"...The opposite? Surely you don't mean to say I would win the duel?"
"Perhaps."
"Haha, I believe you overestimate me greatly, Duke Randert. How could I possibly defeat the Full Moon Knight Order? It's absurd."
"Because Your Highness is the Crown Prince."
At that single, weighty remark, the Crown Prince's laughter died in his throat. He had been feeling rather pleased with himself at earning the Duke's acknowledgment, if only for a moment — but those few words made his chest tighten as though it had all been a lie.
"Do you mean... that you would deliberately lose to me?"
"Forgive my bluntness, but on a day like today, in a place like this, there would not be many knights willing to truly cross blades with the Crown Prince."
"And I thought the Full Moon Knight Order would be different. I suppose not?"
There was an unmistakable note of resentment in his voice.
Just as the Duke had said, he was the Crown Prince of the empire. In horsemanship, in sparring, on the hunting field — it had always, always been him in first place.
Who wouldn't know it was because he was the Crown Prince? As a child he had known nothing of the world and simply assumed he was good at everything, but as he grew older, he came to understand. Everyone had merely been playing along for his sake. And that was not a problem he could solve by calling it out.
That was why he had thirsted so badly for today's duel. He had trusted that Duke Randert's Full Moon Knight Order, at least, would face him on skill alone. And now he couldn't help feeling disappointed.
"You said you wished to broaden your horizons. That need not come only from standing in a duel yourself. Merely watching and listening before your own eyes can teach you a great deal."
"...What do you mean by that?"
"Since Your Highness seems so sorely disappointed, I intend to open a duel."
"You'll fight it yourself, Duke?"
"I regret to say that no one in this hall can stand against me."
It was an insufferably arrogant thing to say. But the man who said it was none other than Duke Randert — and he was the only man alive entitled to say it.
"Instead, I will send out one of my men. Will you face him, Duke Hector?"
He had picked his opponent — deliberately, precisely, like a blade finding its mark. For the first time, the Emperor's eyes, which had quietly followed the exchange between the Crown Prince and Duke Randert, flickered.
So this is the moment.
Bayul knew instinctively that the instant his father had told him to watch for had arrived. It was a move only his father would make.
A man who had walked beside the sword his entire life.
He intended to collect the debt with the sword as well.
It was, one might say, the second reckoning dealt by House Randert — following Bayul's the day before.
"Why is Duke Randert suddenly doing this?"
There were too many eyes watching to refuse. He had been granted a brief respite under the pretext of preparing the stage for the duel — a small mercy, if it could even be called one.
"Any other time I'd have excused myself and been halfway home by now — isn't this the moment to leave? What is he playing at, suddenly calling for a duel? And why, of all people, does the opponent have to be me!"
"Your Grace, the Duke—"
"Does he want to strut in front of his son, is that it? All these years of playing the aloof sage — was it an act the whole time? Everyone already knows which of us is the stronger!"
No matter how he fumed, Duke Hector could not douse the fire in his chest. From where he stood, it was as if the strongest beast in the pack had picked a fight with a harmless stranger just to show off — in other words, he had been marked for a public humiliation, served up on a platter.
"I simply cannot make sense of it! This isn't like Duke Randert at all!"
Shouting himself hoarse, Duke Hector paced back and forth without so much as sitting down, his agitation plain for anyone to see.
"I believe it may be because of the young master, Your Grace."
"The young master? What does Jared have to do with any of this?"
Duke Hector stopped mid-stride. He fixed the knight commander with a glare, as if daring him to speak plainly.
"Well... there was a minor... incident, some time ago."
"If you mean the disciplinary committee, that matter is already settled."
"...Aside from that, there was... one other disturbance..."
The trailing off was suspicious. The knight commander was not a man who usually hedged his words like this.
"Planning to tell me only after I've been thoroughly disgraced, are you?"
"Forgive me, my lord."
"We'll deal with your negligence later. Tell me what happened. Now."
The Duke's command fell like an axe. Hesitating no longer, the commander delivered a swift, concise report of the night market incident.
"Wh-what did you say? He drew a blade on who?"
Duke Hector's face crumpled in stricken disbelief. He was beyond outraged — he was frantic. however badly he had spoiled the boy, there were things one did and things one did not do. Pointing a sword at him — of all people?
"Hah... hahaha!"
Laughter burst out of him. After four daughters in a row, this son had been his first — and only — boy. To the Duke, Jared was a treasure he could not love more dearly, his precious late-born child, his illustrious heir.
It was true that he had raised the boy with utter indulgence. As Jared grew and played cruel pranks with his friends, the Duke had only ever thought the boy spirited, never seriously troubled by it. He had the power and the authority to bury anything, after all.
But this time was different. His son had crossed a line that must never be crossed. No doubt he had never truly meant to cause injury (the Duke made himself believe that much), but he had pointed a sword at the son of Duke Randert. And not alone — with four knights at his back.
"Unbelievable."
The rage that had been boiling over strangely began to cool. He was living, breathing proof of just how catastrophically stupid a human being could be.
"...He swears he never dreamed, not for a moment, that the young man was a son of House Randert."
"And you're telling me this now?"
Of course he hadn't known. Had he known, he'd have dragged Jared out of that place by the collar before anything happened.
Duke Randert.
To Duke Hector, he was a deeply complicated existence.
Infuriating beyond endurance, yet somehow worthy of trust — the one indispensable servant this empire could not afford to lose.
A man he dreamed of one day surpassing, though he knew the road would never be smooth.
And so, all the more, a man he longed to break.
He was the sole source of the Duke's inferiority, and for that very reason, the one man Hector guard himself against most carefully. And his idiot son had laid hands on that man's child.