The Hero's Merit Ceremony
Ohhh, John Nassen! Hero of the Empire!
"I'll leave the finishing touches to you, little brother. May your academy days be enjoyable ones."
Wouldn't it have been better if you'd stuck around to help me with those finishing touches, Brother?
Worrying about me isn't enough. You could've stayed and come with me.
"Take care, Kyle!! Train hard! Don't eat too many sweets!! And when vacation comes, you absolutely have to come home, got it?!"
Sister, you're just as bad! If you're going to police my workouts, you should've stayed longer!
Leaving your little brother to handle the big stuff alone while you run off to train—really?!
Those inner thoughts never quite made it past his lips.
"Haaah…."
Kyle simply let out a deep sigh and waved them off with a hand.
When they insisted muscle loss was setting in and they absolutely could not stay any longer, how was he supposed to hold them back?
Push any harder and those two might decide to start working out right in the middle of the merit ceremony itself.
Or worse—they might show up with a barbell and weight plates strapped to their backs.
And so, a few days short of reaching the imperial capital, Kyle watched his brother and sister leave.
"A merit ceremony is such a tremendous honor, yet they turn their backs and walk away…."
Grand Duke Schurelitz murmured the words as he watched the two figures dwindle into the distance.
"Kyle. Is there some great trouble back in your homeland?"
"Pardon?"
"When they came to me earlier saying they had no choice but to return, their bearing was so grave, so heavy, that for a moment I could scarcely draw breath. As if some true calamity had struck. If word of a loved one's passing has reached you, I would like to offer my deepest condolences."
"…."
Over there the reason is muscle loss, and over here he's convinced someone died.
Then again, calling it a pure misunderstanding felt unfair—Lear's solemn expression had been that solemn.
Honestly, even Kyle himself tended to drop his gaze straight to the floor whenever his brother wore that look.
"I-it's not a death notice. There is an urgent matter at home… w-well. Yes. There is. There must be. On top of that, the aftermath of fighting the Three Heroes has left them a bit worn out."
"Ahh, I see. True enough—those bastards resorted not only to mana amplifiers but even to that explosive elixir. Facing opponents who would have given the Ten Strongest a hard fight, fatigue is only natural."
So even the John Nassens were human after all! Grand Duke Schurelitz laughed heartily.
In reality, Lear and Lea were anything but tired; they were practically glowing at the thought of getting back to their training as soon as possible.
"Then shouldn't you also return home, Kyle?"
"Ah, well… I should, but if I leave as well, I would have no face to show His Majesty the Emperor. Her Highness the Fifth Princess has come in person, and this is the first merit ceremony in decades. If every recipient is absent, the talk will be endless."
Even Lear and Lea's departure alone was enough to start tongues wagging.
Fortunately Kyle had been the first into the fray and had even defeated Mathieu—said to be the foremost of the Three Heroes. Claiming the ceremony's starring role himself was far better than having some unrelated party accept the honors in their stead.
It would not silence every whisper, but it would stifle most of them.
And in the same breath he managed to weave the imperial family into the conversation, making plain that they were on his mind.
The unique specialty of a John Nassen who was somehow not quite a John Nassen was on full display.
Grand Duke Schurelitz is a thoroughgoing patriot. Loyalty to the imperial house runs deep in him. In front of a man like that, showing concern for the imperial family's dignity is pure profit.
Across this vast empire there existed only three men who held the title of Grand Duke.
Barring outright treason, a Grand Ducal house would endure forever.
Building a connection with one, therefore, could only be advantageous—no matter the angle.
Whether the benefit proved small or monumental, it would help someday.
People were always soft toward those they had met a few times and who had once done them a kindness.
"Hmm."
And just as Kyle predicted, Grand Duke Schurelitz was inwardly murmuring, Oh-ho, in quiet admiration.
He is thinking of the imperial family's face.
It was a slightly different bearing from every other John Nassen he had heard of.
No excessive stiffness, no flaunting of self. Rather, he lowered himself of his own accord.
In a place where he had no need to do so, Kyle's behavior struck the Grand Duke as both curious and thoroughly desirable.
Did this not mean the John Nassens themselves were changing—and in a positive direction?
Perhaps one day they might truly belong to the Empire and offer loyalty to the imperial house.
Thinking that far, the Empire's future suddenly looked brilliantly bright.
"We should make haste."
"Pardon?"
"We cannot be late for the merit ceremony, can we? Your brother and sister have even yielded you the most radiant seat of all. Would it do for the guest of honor to arrive late?"
Grand Duke Schurelitz gave Kyle's shoulder a light clap.
Waaaaaah!!!
The moment they finally reached the imperial capital, the throngs who had gathered at the news erupted in a single roar of cheers.
Thousands upon thousands of voices rose as one; the sheer force of the sound was overwhelming.
Young soldiers and knights experiencing such a triumphal entry for the first time found themselves cowed by the crowd.
They stood rigid with tension, sweat pouring down their faces—plainly visible.
Understandable. Only natural. So Grand Duke Schurelitz thought… until he glanced at the man beside him.
Kyle looked utterly unfazed, and the Grand Duke suddenly felt a little foolish.
As expected, a John Nassen is different from the rest of us no matter what he does or faces.
I've heard plenty of shouting like this back in John Nassen territory.
When had it been? Ah—those dawn runs when everyone sprinted as if possessed.
The John Nassen folk would tear along at full speed while bellowing at the top of their lungs.
Even speaking a few words while running was hard enough; they were yelling. It had been enough to make one's hair stand on end—yet Kyle himself had adapted soon enough.
Perhaps thanks to that, from the moment he entered the capital until he stepped onto the platform, Kyle showed not the slightest sign of shrinking or tension.
His composure was so absolute that it left others flustered instead.
What truly startled Kyle, however, lay elsewhere.
"We meet again, Brother Kyle!"
"Saintess?! You've come as well?!"
Startled by her sudden appearance, Kyle hurriedly offered a respectful greeting.
The knights of the Sword Brethren who had observed him before were astonished by the impeccable manners.
Meanwhile the clergy of the Holy Order watched with warm satisfaction as the star of today's ceremony treated their Saintess with such reverence.
"I heard of Brother Kyle's exploits this time. When I learned there would be a merit ceremony in your honor, I wished to convey my congratulations in person. And so here I am."
"I… truly do not know how to express my gratitude."
"It's nothing compared to what you have done, Brother Kyle. I was told you led the victory without a single kill."
"Ah—yes. I was lucky."
It was no false modesty; he really had been lucky.
Had things gone even slightly wrong, Lear or Lea would have crushed the Three Heroes' skulls outright.
Fortunately the enemies' limits had become clear, so the two never went that far.
As for Mathieu, he had never doped in the first place, so there had been no particular reason for rage.
Kyle spoke only the plain truth, free of any pretense of humility.
Yet from the Saintess to the Holy Order clergy and even the imperial knights standing nearby, every listener could not help thinking the same thing:
As expected of Brother Kyle. To remain so humble while possessing such power…
After accomplishing something so monumental he could show a little pride, yet he never once acts arrogant. What a truly remarkable man.
That is the true bearing of a knight. Now I understand why His Grace the Grand Duke keeps him close.
Unaware that a small mountain of misunderstandings was piling up, Kyle simply enjoyed holding the Saintess's hand.
The Saintess herself showed not the slightest discomfort at having her hand taken.
Smiles bloomed across the faces of the Holy Order onlookers.
"Ah—look at me. We can speak in more detail later, Brother Kyle."
"By all means. I shall give you a full account at the academy."
After the brief greeting, Kyle waited behind the platform for his turn.
Outside, the Empire's victory was being celebrated on a grand scale.
And when word spread that the Saintess herself had come from the Holy Order to offer congratulations, the cheers soared to a fever pitch.
Of course the Saintess is the best! Absolutely!
What could be more satisfying than others adoring one's ultimate favorite character?
He was inwardly applauding and joining the crowd in silent cries of Saintess! when the signal came to prepare.
Kyle checked his attire and stepped out.
"Wooooaaaaah!!"
A lot of people. Loud cheers too. Still quieter than the John Nassen crowd, though.
Even before a countless throng, Kyle remained completely unfazed.
Watching him from the platform, Yulika found herself smiling without realizing it.
Haaah.
As she watched Kyle climb the steps toward the platform, strength drained from her legs.
The aura of a powerhouse that always radiated from him felt even stronger today.
She barely restrained the urge to simply seize him, grab his hand, and drag him straight to the training grounds.
Once they were married she could do that as often as she liked.
If some reckless move made Kyle push her away again, the regret would outweigh any gain.
The Emperor's congratulatory address was read aloud by proxy, followed by the bestowal of medals.
As Yulika pinned the decoration to Kyle's chest, she casually brushed her fingers across his pectorals.
"Firm" was far too weak a word; her hand barely even seemed to touch him.
Given that this was the man who had sunk even Mathieu Philibert—foremost of the Three Heroes—it was only natural.
Yulika swallowed hard with an audible gulp.
"I hope you will continue to strive for the Empire, Kyle John Nassen."
"It is an honor, Your Highness."
A princess who wanted to possess him, to be possessed by him—wanted anything at all—and a Kyle who was silently praying, Please don't make a move, please don't make a move.
All around them the crowd roared and applauded in celebration of the meritorious recipient.
When the ceremony at last concluded, the throng offered one final surge of praise.
On this day alone, no one muttered about "northern barbarians" or "the imperial house inflating its achievements."
To them, Kyle and the John Nassens were simply heroes who had long since brought glory back to the Empire.
"Brother Kyle!!"
At the very front, the Saintess beamed and waved both hands.
Spotting her, Kyle raised both arms high in enthusiastic reply.
She had gone out of her way to attend for his sake; he could not help paying her extra attention.
Finish the ceremony quickly, talk a little more with the Saintess, then crush those upper-body and lower-body sessions I've been missing… I've got a lot to do.
Thinking that, Kyle started to hurry down from the platform—only for a woman's strong hand to suddenly seize his wrist.
"Kyle."
"Got a minute to talk?"
Ah, why again.
"Your Highness. Today I'm a little busy and rather tired, so…."
The air turned cold. A dagger seemed to bury itself in his chest. The feeling was distinctly ominous.
She might have asked to talk only to suddenly pounce, or the topic might be marriage.
Whatever it was, it was definitely not welcome, so he tried to refuse as gently as he could—
"If you dodge me, I might just propose right here and now. In front of all these people of the Empire."
"This way, Your Highness. Whatever the matter, this Kyle will listen with utmost sincerity."