#44 Two Eggs (6)
The problem was that the distinguished guest who appeared wasn't just the prince.
Accompanying the prince were Bobert Count, the real powerholder of the East, and Russell Count.
The crowd held their breath in awe of their dignity.
"Whoa... all the big shots are here."
"The guys who were bickering suddenly look like minnows."
Bobert Count was publicly recognized as the East's number two.
Russell Count was known as a ruthless negotiator, handling all of Suffolk Duke's diplomacy.
The crowd parted like the Red Sea.
"Your Highness! Welcome."
"It's truly an honor to have you grace us with your presence."
Nobles here and there offered formal greetings, but the prince, having dismounted, merely nodded curtly as he passed.
His attention was fixed on Owen.
Bobert Count wore a pleased expression at this demeanor.
In contrast, Russell Count's face was as gloomy as a winter sky heavy with clouds.
His corpse-like complexion seemed even paler today.
As he followed the prince, Russell Count glanced sidelong at Albert.
Albert shuddered at that gaze.
"Ugh!"
Russell Count had invested heavily in Albert.
But Albert had screwed over his investor.
'I'm done for! At this rate, he'll have me killed!'
After the bet, his greatest worry was Russell Count.
The other nobles would seek revenge too, but compared to him, it was child's play.
Russell Count was the type who might bury him somewhere no one would find.
It was on a whole different level from a beating or threats to hand over his fortune.
Seizing a noisy moment, Russell Count approached.
A wall of bodyguards stood between them.
Russell Count faced forward toward the prince but addressed the figure behind him.
"Albert."
Albert, standing behind the guards, bowed deeply as if it were a divine voice.
"...Speak, my lord."
"Do you have any way to turn this around? You probably do. For your own sake."
As expected, Russell Count had no intention of letting things end like this.
Albert hurriedly recited the conditions he'd been pushing, then added,
"...It's just a worthless dragon. Won't one hatch eventually?"
"Ridiculous. That's pure nonsense."
"B-but!"
"Though it might just work."
"Pardon?"
Russell Count stared at the prince.
The prince was indeed interested in Owen, but how he'd judge it was still unknown.
From now on, depending on the prince's attitude, Russell thought he might find an opening to intervene.
"You push your conditions with everything you've got. If you fail, it's over anyway—might as well stake your life on it."
"...Y-yes, my lord!"
Albert resolved to force his claim through, no matter what happened today.
He was truly backed into a corner.
Meanwhile, Owen focused on handling the heavyweight before him.
The prince, barely acknowledging the surrounding greetings, approached him directly.
"You're Owen Leire, I take it."
"I greet Your Highness. I deeply regret not coming to you first."
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"No matter. I came at a good opportunity to see for myself. But the place seemed quite rowdy—what's going on?"
"Ah, well..."
Owen explained the situation.
The prince showed interest.
"What? They win if a worthless dragon hatches?"
Reacting to the prince's words, nearby nobles rushed forward with excuses.
"Your Highness! It's..."
"Please hear my humble opinion."
Their arguments parroted exactly what Albert had claimed.
"Hmm..."
As the prince remained silent, Owen asked,
"What say you, Your Highness?"
Owen's intent was clear: since you're here, lend a hand.
The prince wasn't oblivious to it.
He found the bold attempt to draw him in both audacious and amusing.
'Well, now.'
Given his status, he could end this mess right here.
But he had no intention of complying easily.
He'd heard reports from Alania, but he wanted to witness firsthand the extraordinary talent behind the rampant rumors about Owen.
At the same time, if a worthless dragon hatched and Owen lost the bet, well, that was just how it went.
"Well, it's not an entirely unreasonable argument."
The prince stepped back, refusing to help.
Watching the situation, Russell Count interjected.
"Your Highness, I agree. Sir Albert's dragon died, true, but due to a congenital deformity. Though it failed, we can't say Sir Albert was negligent in its care."
This drew strong support.
The nobles, cornered, grew bolder with Russell Count backing them.
"Your Highness! I share the same view!"
"We beseech your wise judgment!"
The area grew chaotic.
Owen met Russell Count's eyes.
He felt the snake-like glare.
The hitherto expressionless Russell Count's lips curled slightly upward.
A blatant provocation, as if asking, what now?
But Owen remained utterly composed.
To Russell, it was strangely captivating.
'What is this? He looks like a seasoned diplomat. No flicker in his expression even in this situation. Is it not just bravado—does he have something up his sleeve? Or pure bluff?'
Even if it was mere acting, Russell found it impressive.
It had fooled him, a veteran of countless diplomatic stages.
And his gaze, which cowed even the boldest men, showed not the slightest waver.
'Interesting. I can see why His Highness is intrigued.'
The prince's voice broke Russell's reverie.
"I have no authority to judge."
The crowd pressed harder.
"If not Your Highness, who can resolve this?"
"Without you, no one would dare step forward."
The prince drew a line.
"I can't judge, but I can mediate. So let's watch for now."
The prince found the unfolding drama entertaining and let it play out, without intending to sabotage Owen.
He was quite curious how Owen would resolve it.
So he asked his opinion.
"Sir Leire. What do you think?"
Thanks to the prince's consideration, Owen seized a chance to counterattack.
"Your Highness, my stance is firm. Considering the original bet, their claim doesn't hold water."
Jeers poured in, as expected.
"Arrogant brat!"
"Ignoring Lord Russell's opinion, are you?!"
"Thought you were decent, but you're shameless!"
Owen didn't so much as twitch an eyebrow amid the insults.
A mere knighted boy remained calm before the nobles' fury.
The prince inwardly admired his poise.
'Fearless beyond his years. Just as the reports said.'
But boldness alone wasn't enough to navigate the world.
Wisdom was needed now.
"You're dismissing their argument outright?"
"No, Your Highness. How can one live stubbornly by one's own whims?"
"So?"
"In disputes, mutual concession is the best resolution. Changing the bet's terms requires my concession. So if they concede likewise, why not?"
"Concession? What do you want?"
"Simple. If they want to change the terms, double the stakes."
"What? Ha! Hahaha!"
The unexpected demand made the prince burst into laughter.
Owen intended to strip them to the bone.
"This shows true sincerity, I believe, Your Highness."
"Sincerity? Quite the persuasive argument. Indeed, nothing proves intent like glittering gold."
The crowd buzzed loudly.
Things had veered into unforeseen territory.
They'd started pushing back, but doubling the stakes?
As nobles moved to rebel, the prince—who'd decided to help Owen a bit—cut in preemptively.
"As the Empire's third prince, I shall mediate. Overturning the original bet is absurd. But recognizing mutual compromise due to circumstances, I permit changing the terms only if the stakes are doubled!"
It was settled.
No one here would defy Suffolk Duke's honored guest, the prince.
Faces showed confusion over what to do.
"What now?"
"Beats me."
Albert stepped forward swiftly.
"Your Highness! A most enlightened judgment! We shall abide!"
For him, doubling the stakes wasn't the issue.
Desperate not to miss his last chance, he persuaded the crowd.
"Look at that egg. What good could come from a moldy shell? His Highness has accepted our plea—why hesitate?!"
"Still..."
"Ah! Impressive. So you'll tuck tail and flee against a child?!"
"You! That's too much!"
"Rebuke me after! I don't wish to parley with cowards now!"
Albert's fervent attitude swayed the nobles.
"Fine! Let's do it!"
"Sir Albert. You're sure? If you're wrong again, prepare yourself."
Owen barely suppressed a hollow laugh at the shift.
'Good lord! Albert!'
The outcome was predetermined anyway.
Yet the man who hated Owen more than anyone was slaving away to raise his stakes.
"We're in!"
"Me too!"
Assents echoed around.
Not everyone doubled down, of course.
"...Time to bow out."
"Knowing when to retreat is key."
Those sensing trouble slipped away.
With the situation sorted, Owen commanded,
"Bring the egg."
Bald John and the crew carried the moldy dragon egg to the open center.
It was midday, warm weather—ideal for a hatchling.
The crowd scattered, awaiting the hatching.
Albert felt like he was suffocating.
His entire fate hung on this.
"God of Light! Please!"
He never attended church, yet now fervently invoked the divine.
Owen, leisurely, chatted with the prince.
"Impressive maneuvering, Sir Leire."
"Thanks to Your Highness's aid."
"You made good use of it."
"My apologies."
"Enough. But can you really win this bet? That egg looks hopeless. I get why the nobles doubled down to change terms."
"I have greater certainty than they. Please watch, Your Highness."
"Hmmm..."
The prince said little.
He'd simply observe as requested.
Whether this boy had something special would be revealed by the result.
How much time passed?
Suddenly, the egg stirred.
"It's hatching!"
The scattered crowd rushed back.
All eyes widened, watching intently.
"Please!"
"Ah! The top cracked!"
Groans erupted.
Cracks spread, thick fluid oozing from the fissures.
The crowd encircled the small egg like a fortress.
Up front: the prince, Owen, and key figures.
Others tiptoed behind for a view.
Probably few dragons hatched under such fervent attention.
Then the egg shattered, spilling the hatchling into the world.
"Oh! It came o—!"
Someone's exclamation cut short.
"Gasp!"
"Heok!"
Gulps echoed.
Those upfront stared wide-eyed, speechless.
Meanwhile, the unseen rear buzzed with curiosity.
"What?"
"Why'd the bigwigs shut up?"
"What the hell hatched?!"
The clamor grew from behind, but the front remained silent.
They didn't know how to react.
"What is this?"
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