A Challenge to the Third Prince
His eyes opened.
Shiron looked around, trying to make sense of where he was.
The first thing that filled his vision was a wall of floor-to-ceiling glass. Next came the red carpet covering the entire floor. Marble sculptures, a solid wood desk, a black leather chair with a soft, understated sheen.
He was not in the white room. He was in Hugo's office, seated on a large sofa.
What the hell…
Having confirmed he was back in reality, Shiron blinked his much lighter eyelids and stared straight ahead.
In front of him, two maids and one other person were watching him with faintly uneasy expressions.
"Young Master? Are you feeling unwell somewhere?"
The sudden way he had started glancing all over the room must have seemed strange; the blonde maid spoke in a worried tone.
"…Why? Do I look sick?"
"Well… you're sweating rather a lot."
"Sweating?"
At Encia's words, Shiron put a hand to his forehead.
What his fingertips found was dampness. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a handkerchief, and wiped every bead of sweat from his face before he could finally open his mouth again.
"Let me ask you something."
"…Anything you like."
It was Encia who answered. He had directed the question at all three of them, but Ophelia hesitated, and Berta kept glancing around as if gauging the mood.
Still, one person was enough.
All he needed was to confirm how his body here had reacted while he was in that strange space.
"Did anything happen to me?"
"Anything, Young Master? Well… you did break into a cold sweat just now."
"Not that."
Shiron shook his head and refined the question.
"I mean, did I go somewhere? Or doze off? Anything like that?"
"…You've been through something significant, haven't you."
Ophelia, who had been listening from the side, narrowed her eyes. Shiron nodded slowly.
"Answer the question first."
"Nothing of the sort. Young Master remained on this sofa the entire time with your head bowed."
"What about the time? How many hours since I last said something?"
"…You sank into thought for a bit, then raised your head and looked around. It didn't take long at all. About two minutes?"
"…Is that so."
Shiron thought back to what had happened in the white room. He had met an angel, seen a corpse, and received blessings.
Subjectively it had felt like an hour or two had passed, yet almost no time had moved here.
"Just now, I met someone. We talked about a great many things there, but it seems barely any time passed on this side."
"…May we know who you met?"
Encia frowned as she asked. Shiron pictured the girl who had recoiled in horror at the sight of a demon's mark.
Should I even tell them…?
Even though the contract bound them so that they could not refuse his orders, he found himself reluctant to simply dump everything he had experienced in that strange white room.
"…I met an angel."
Shiron flushed and lowered his head.
Waking up out of nowhere and claiming he had met an angel—the people in front of him were demons, sure, but even he felt a little embarrassed saying it out loud. He wasn't some middle-school chuuni brat.
"An angel?"
"Yeah. The ones with the glowing rings over their heads. That's what she said herself."
Latera, who had acted as if she could see straight through him. She had called herself the guardian angel who watched over the Hero's House.
She was a real handful to deal with.
Having his mind read had put a serious amount of mental pressure on him.
The blind goodwill she kept throwing at me was exhausting too. We'd just met—who acts that close right off the bat?
There had been no buildup between him and Latera that might have justified getting along. He didn't know her at all, while she could see clean through his thoughts.
And that "senior" business was unsettling as hell.
The more they talked, the more unknown factors kept popping up to throw him off. The "senior" Latera mentioned from time to time especially so.
The Apostle of God who, according to Yuma at the succession ceremony, had given the Holy Sword to Kyle. Shiron was certain they were the same person.
An angel who handed a Holy Sword to the hero and even helped found the suspicious Prien family had never appeared in the game.
The moment he let himself dwell on that one, an uncontrollable flood of negative feelings would have poured out.
The girl in front of him had been gushing with respect for someone who looked every bit like a shadowy mastermind—and on top of not being able to hide his thoughts, trying not to think about it at all had been a real ordeal.
He had struggled to keep a lot of other thoughts under control as well.
He had deliberately avoided thinking about Lucia, the true hero.
He had barely managed to stop himself from thinking that this world was the world of a game, and that he was a possessor who had been dropped into it.
Still—if anything, I came out ahead. I didn't lose anything.
"She also gave me this."
"Gave you what?"
"Stand back a bit. It might be dangerous."
Shiron turned his palm toward the ceiling.
The three-piece blessing set was… none of it felt especially tangible.
Holy power, though, was different.
Fwoosh—
Warm light began to burst from his palm. Using it was not particularly difficult.
As if he had always known how, he could manifest holy power through will alone.
"Holy power…"
"May I touch it a little?"
"Go ahead."
Shiron nodded at Encia's request for permission.
She stuck a finger into the place where the white radiance was pouring out, then immediately yanked her hand back with a sharp grimace.
"It stings. At this level, you'd match a newly ordained bishop."
"That strong? Your finger's fine, though. The Holy Sword cut Ophelia without me even putting power into it."
"A Holy Sword that can cut through Ophelia's skin when she's specialized in defense is the strange part to begin with."
Encia snorted and shook her head.
Apparently this young master still had no real sense of how remarkable the ability he had acquired actually was.
"Anyway."
Shiron jerked his chin toward Berta, who had not said a word this entire time.
"M-me?"
"No matter how hard I think, I can't figure out who that bastard tailing us was. I've turned over every scrap of information in my head and still can't get a handle on it. The Third Prince put you in charge of investigating the Priens, didn't he?"
Shiron crooked a finger at the document bag beside Berta.
"Hand that over first. I want to see what's in it."
"That's an invasion of privacy—no, wait! I'll give it to you!"
Berta had tried to refuse in a halfhearted way, but the moment Shiron reached into his coat, she immediately folded.
"I know all about privacy. Ophelia. Empty anything suspicious out of her bag."
"Understood."
Ophelia began rummaging through the brown document bag without ceremony.
A short while later she had spread a stack of papers and a few letters across the table.
Shiron picked them up and started leafing through. Then his gaze snagged on one particular passage.
What the hell is this?
He read the thoroughly irritating line out loud.
"'The men who married Prien daughters all ended up as battered husbands'… Why do you even have a document like this?"
"Th-the Third Prince wished to form a friendship with you, Young Master, so he ordered this kind of investigation."
Berta flushed with embarrassment and twisted her body from side to side.
"And he actually reads this stuff?"
"…Yes. He said it was fascinating and read every last page."
"I'm going to lose my mind."
Shiron pressed his temples and closed his eyes. Then he pulled a sheet of paper from his inner pocket and took up a pen.
"Berta. One errand."
"…What is it?"
"I'll write a letter. Deliver it to him."
With a crooked smirk at the corner of his mouth, Shiron dipped the nib in ink and began to write.
"A letter?"
The Third Prince's detached palace.
Third Prince Victor Ado de Rihnn looked back and forth between the black-haired woman before him and the letter in her hand.
"…Yes, Your Highness."
Berta, who had offered the proper courtesies of a retainer, already looked unwell at a glance. Her terrifying young master had even sealed the letter with wax so she could not so much as check the contents before pressing it into her hand.
Victor took her eyes off her and broke the seal. The crest stamped into the wax was Hugo Prien's—one she had seen before.
The contents of the letter were nothing short of shocking.
A grown man with a cock between his legs, and you're too much of a coward to do anything but dig up dirt behind my back. Aren't you ashamed of yourself?
If you want to meet me that badly, come yourself. Bring troops if you're scared—I don't care.
Don't show, and I'll come for you.
— Shiron Prien
Victor could not get her mouth shut.
Never mind the vulgar choice of words—the letter practically invited a member of the imperial family to a street brawl. Even seeing it written out, it was hard to believe.
Victor pressed a trembling eyelid and tried to calm down.
"This cannot have come from Sir Hugo. Who sent it?"
"Shiron Prien, Your Highness."
"Ah… hmm…"
Victor crossed her arms and tilted her head, then burst out laughing. She had been curious what sort of person he was; a single letter had made it perfectly clear.
"It seems… I am not well liked. Haha."
Folding the letter carefully and setting it aside, Victor wiped away a tear that had leaked free with one finger and chuckled.
"I shall have to pay him a visit soon."