Chapter 81
Chapter 81
Less than a week had passed since Logan and the Sword Duke returned from their audience with the king when the long-awaited event finally occurred.
In the middle of training, the Sword Duke, startled by the news, rushed into the inner chambers.
And that day, the heir to the Esperanza family was born.
"Ahahaha!"
Even from a distance, Logan recognized the familiar laughter.
Had this been the child of a commoner, the baby would have been nestled in the warmth of the heated floor, shielded from outsiders. But the Sword Duke's residence had been bustling for weeks in preparation for the birth celebration of his "daughter."
Though it was a tradition among Grandia's nobility, such lavish parties were usually reserved for sons. Yet, most nobles in the capital had accepted the invitation, attributing it to the Sword Duke's well-known doting nature.
And Logan, whose original purpose in coming to the capital had been this very celebration, naturally attended as well.
"The heir of House MacLaine—Prince Logan MacLaine, please step forward."
As the attendant's announcement echoed through the hall and the doors swung open, countless eyes turned toward Logan.
The difference between now and last year—when he had timidly wandered the capital's parties as an outcast—was staggering.
The Sword Duke's disciple.
That title alone drew an overwhelming amount of attention.
"He looks so young..."
"He's already twenty-one, you know."
Murmurs filled the air as curious gazes poured over him.
Of course, it wasn't just stares.
"Prince Logan, might I have a word...?"
"Prince Logan, it's an honor to meet you. I am..."
The sheer number of people approaching him was enough to leave Logan momentarily flustered.
Fortunately, the attention didn't last long.
Coincidentally, right after his introduction, the most important guest of the day arrived.
"His Eminence, Crimson Matthew, Bishop of the United Church, stationed in the Grandia Kingdom!"
A dignified old man with neatly combed snow-white hair entered, wearing a tall white mitre atop his head. His vestments, save for the nine circles embroidered on them, were pure white.
As the embodiment of benevolence, the bishop's arrival prompted every noble in attendance to bow deeply.
The bishop, in turn, inclined his head slightly toward the host of the party seated at the high table.
"Congratulations on the birth of your descendant, Your Grace."
"Thank you, Your Eminence. Your presence here today is an honor beyond words."
The Sword Duke rose from his seat and returned the bow.
Even for someone of the Sword Duke's stature, ignoring a high-ranking bishop—equivalent to an archpriest—was unthinkable.
The bishop chuckled warmly at the respectful gesture.
"How could I send a subordinate? When the pillar of this nation, the Sword Duke, welcomes a child, I must personally bestow the blessing."
"Haha. Once again, I am deeply grateful."
In Grandia—and indeed, across most of the continent—it was customary for nobles to seek divine blessings for their newborns.
People believed these blessings influenced the child's future abilities and character.
Failing to summon a priest for the ceremony was considered a telltale sign of a noble family's decline.
Among the blessings, that of Agnar, the fifth of the Nine Deities—god of trees and life—was especially sought after for ensuring a child's health.
And now, the highest-ranking priest, Bishop Crimson Matthew himself, was here to perform the rite. No wonder the Sword Duke was overjoyed.
As all eyes in the banquet hall focused intently, the bishop slowly made his way toward the high table.
At the innermost part of the hall, where the host would normally sit, a small, elegant cradle had been placed instead.
Inside, wrapped in soft blankets, lay a tiny infant, fast asleep.
The baby, with curly golden hair and a slightly pale complexion, remained peacefully asleep until its mother carefully lifted it—only to wake and burst into tears at the unfamiliar touch.
"Waaah!"
"To the Nine Deities who watch over this world, this humble servant makes a plea..."
As Bishop Crimson lifted the child and began murmuring the incantation, the hall fell silent.
The baby's cries mingled with the bishop's low voice, and soon, a white glow—previously concealed by the priest's robes—began to intensify, enveloping both the bishop and the infant.
'So that's divine power.'
Logan focused his senses, observing the divine energy for the first time in this life.
In his past life, he had thought of it as nothing more than a sudden, miraculous change—something imperceptible until the effects manifested.
Lower-ranking priests' blessings had been invisible to the naked eye, after all.
But what he felt now was different.
'Closer to the source than force, subtler than mana. No wonder ordinary people can't perceive it.'
He had long realized that his senses—his perception—had transcended ordinary limits.
So, he simply noted the unique characteristics of divine power and continued watching the ceremony.
"Ooh!"
"As expected of the bishop!"
"Such a vivid display of divine power!"
As murmurs of awe spread through the crowd, the baby in the bishop's arms—perhaps fascinated by the light—stopped crying and blinked its large blue eyes, gazing around curiously.
"In the name of Agnar, deity of life, I bless this newborn descendant of House Esperanza."
Flash!
A final burst of white light flooded the banquet hall before dissipating, prompting thunderous applause.
"Your Grace, congratulations!"
"With such a radiant blessing, this child is destined for greatness!"
"Our sincerest felicitations, Your Grace!"
Amid the cheers, the Sword Duke beamed, repeatedly bowing in gratitude.
But among all the guests, only two did not smile—Bishop Crimson and Logan.
'The divine power was repelled from the baby's body?'
Logan had clearly sensed that the final burst of light wasn't the blessing reaching its peak—it was the infant's body rejecting the divine energy.
If he had noticed, how could the bishop himself have missed it?
The bishop, visibly perplexed, handed the now-crying baby back to its mother and summoned another wave of white light.
"You've endured much, Duchess. Please rest with the child for a while."
Another surge of divine energy.
The duchess, who had forced herself to attend despite her exhaustion, visibly relaxed, and the baby, soothed by the warmth, quieted once more.
But—
'Again?'
The infant's body still repelled the divine power.
This time, even the bishop's practiced composure cracked, his expression stiffening noticeably.
"Is something wrong, Your Eminence?"
"Ah, no, Your Grace. The child is so beautiful, I was momentarily entranced."
But his discomfort was unmistakable.
The Sword Duke, sensing something amiss, tensed slightly.
"Ah, it's been a while since I last performed a blessing. I must be fatigued. My apologies—I should retire for now."
No one could stop the bishop from leaving.
"Everyone! Enjoy the celebration! Let us toast to the birth of new life!"
The Sword Duke quickly shifted focus, reviving the party's atmosphere as the bishop departed.
Though the incident left only a few suspicious, Logan couldn't shake a growing unease.
'...Why?'
It could have been nothing—just a coincidence.
Or perhaps the child had a unique constitution that naturally repelled divine energy, a rare but not impossible trait.
Logan tried to rationalize it, but the lingering discomfort remained.
And then—
"Long time no see, Logan MacLaine."
A familiar voice whispered in his ear.
Turning, he saw a middle-aged man with golden hair and cold blue eyes raising a glass with a frigid smile.
"Yes. It's been a while, Count Vifros."
"Indeed. You look annoyingly well—what a shame."
Logan smirked at the childish jab from a man of such high rank.
"Thanks to you."
"...Still as glib as ever."
"Good health does that."
"And still as arrogant."
"It's part of my charm."
Logan grinned deliberately—so smugly it was almost infuriating.
Crack!
The wine glass in the count's hand shattered, drawing startled glances.
"Ah, what a clumsy mistake. Age must be making my hands unsteady."
Roger Vifros sighed theatrically, summoning a servant to wipe his stained hands with practiced nonchalance.
Once the attention faded and the crowd's focus returned to the Sword Duke, the count leaned closer, whispering venomously.
"Don't think becoming the Sword Duke's disciple means you're safe. You've caught the eye of someone important—how lucky you are."
"Oh, I'm well aware of my luck."
Had he not been lucky, he wouldn't have been reborn at all.
That much, at least, was sincere—not a taunt.
But the answer only twisted the count's expression further.
"Good. Keep that attitude when you meet him."
"...Him?"
"Romain von Grandia. The Second Prince wishes to see you. Of course, I'd prefer you refuse."
Though phrased indirectly, the meaning was unmistakable.
Join the Second Prince's faction—unless you have a death wish.
It was nothing short of a threat.
But Logan only smiled wider at the count's hardened expression.
"If His Highness wishes to meet me, I'd be honored. I'll consider the proposal carefully."
"You insolent—! You dare call His Highness's command a proposal?"
"Isn't it? Or would you prefer I go over with my master?"
Logan gestured subtly toward the opposite side of the hall, and the count's face stiffened further.
After a tense silence, Roger Vifros gritted his teeth and turned away.
"Expect word soon. If this is another deception, the consequences will be dire."
"I'll be waiting."
Logan watched the retreating figure with inner amusement.
'What could he possibly do to me at this point?'
The civil war was mere months away.
If he stalled long enough, neither prince nor duke would have time to spare for him.
The idea of Count Vifros—a mere border lord—playing messenger for the Second Prince was almost laughable.
And since they'd be enemies soon anyway, the threat meant nothing.
'He didn't deliver that message willingly, did he? Probably...'
Logan's gaze shifted to the towering figure at the center of the hall—the man Count Vifros had approached.
Over two meters tall, his massive frame barely contained by a custom-tailored suit, with slate-gray hair like weathered stone.
'The Blazing Sword—Jordan Waltermein.'
One of the kingdom's three dukes, a transcendent aura user, and the Second Prince's maternal grandfather.
Noticing Logan's stare, the duke glanced his way—then dismissively looked past him, as if he were beneath notice.
'Well, it's not me he wants—it's my master.'
Logan smirked as he watched, but then another familiar voice reached his ears.
"Indeed. One should make decisions carefully, nephew."
"Hm?"
A middle-aged man with neatly combed black hair and a pale complexion.
The moment Logan saw him, his expression soured.
"Beron... Kairos?"
Though he used honorifics, his tone dripped with displeasure.
But Beron, undeterred, brightened and approached eagerly.
"Hahaha! It's been so long, Prince Logan. Seeing you so grown fills me with pride as a family elder. But your earlier response was too hasty."
The sheer audacity left Logan speechless.
'Family elder? Me? Hah. Let's keep our distance, little lord.'
The same man who had once wounded Logan's pride as a child had, with age, traded confidence for shamelessness.
Naturally, Logan had no intention of humoring him.
"Family elder? Who, you?"
"Well, we may not share blood, but surely you know Houses MacLaine and Kairos are connected by marriage?"
Beron Kairos was a far cry from Roger Vifros in influence.
But among the First Prince's faction, his family was one of the few with ties to the MacLaines.
Of course—
"Hmm, wasn't that connection already severed?"
To Logan, their relationship had always been worse than strangers.