Chapter 6
Chapter 6
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 6
Chapter Title: Grand Duke's Heir, You've Run Away!
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"My father is the great Iron-Blooded Chancellor, but he's the type who couldn't eat it even if you shoved it in his mouth."
Staring up at the dank ceiling of the underground prison, I let out a long sigh. My worries were piling up like a mountain. Sure, humanity's future was their own problem—they could grill and boil themselves for all I cared—but my own predicament looked utterly bleak.
Of course, if I knelt before Father and begged forgiveness, I could probably walk free in no time. But a man has his pride. How could I admit fault when I hadn't done anything wrong? No way in hell.
Still, I couldn't just sit here forever. With only about two weeks until Saint Prosia Day, staying locked up meant I might never get another shot at reuniting with Yojjo.
The Hall of Divinity, where Yojjo was enshrined, only opened for three days around Saint Prosia Day. The rest of the time, sacred magic barriers sealed it tight, keeping everyone out.
Sure, I could try again next year, but that felt too risky. As I later learned, all divine artifacts except the Seven Divine Artifacts and a few others randomly chose their wielders under the guise of "divine selection." In other words, no one knew if Yojjo might pick some other punk as its master.
"Alright. Looks like I've got no choice but to go with Plan A. If nothing else works, what else is there? Yeah, that's it."
A wicked grin was already creeping across my face.
The solution was simple: run away. Some might ask how you run away from prison, but who am I? I am Yahn Sergio Karl, miracle survivor, master of escape.
If I set my mind to it, I could slip out of this dump blindfolded.
'Gotta break out fast, though. Time's not on my side.'
Saint Prosia Day was two weeks away, but the trek from here to the Divinum Great Temple on foot would take about a month. I could make it in a week flat, but with search parties scouring everywhere, I'd waste time dodging them.
Plus, I couldn't use the Magic Alliance's teleport portals—they'd be flooded with my description the second I bolted.
Damn this bloodline of mine. Useless when I need it, nothing but baggage when I don't.
'So, which route? Yeah, the Drwin Mountains to the east of the Karl Grand Duchy seem best.'
I pictured the Drwin Mountains, part of the border between the Yosrahim Empire and the Kalligo Kingdom—home to dark elves, bloodkin, and werewolves. The terrain was rugged, sparsely populated.
Monsters lurked often, making it dangerous, but no trackers or checkpoints meant I could move freely and fast.
'Just cross the northern tributary of the Lumenox River midway, and the Divinum Great Temple's a straight shot. Perfect.'
I stood, pretending to stumble and kicking over the nearby chamber pot. It shattered. Rough plan, but now I just needed to get out.
"Hey, Count?"
Meyer Count approached at my call.
"What is it?"
"Gotta go bad, but the pot's busted."
The count peered through the bars at the mess and frowned.
"I'll have someone replace it."
"It's urgent."
"Hold it a moment."
"What if I shit my pants? You gonna take responsibility for my ruined reputation?"
"Well..."
"If I shit my pants, everyone here dies. Imagine the heir to the Grand Duke's seat shitting himself. I can't suffer that humiliation, so I'd have to kill you all to keep it quiet."
The guarding knights shot desperate looks at Meyer Count. I was exactly the type to follow through.
The count unlocked the cell.
"Very well. I'll escort you to the latrine. Follow me."
He signaled with his eyes, and two knights flanked me, gripping my arms to prevent escape. Pointless.
I played along, walking the underground corridor until I spotted the iron gate to the outside. I grabbed the knight beside me by the waist, slamming him down.
"Urk!"
The other knight instinctively reached for his sword hilt at his comrade's pained gasp.
"What? You dare draw on me?"
He flinched at my threat. Drawing on his future lord was a death wish—especially against me.
But Meyer Count, leading ahead, spun around. Startled but swift, he drew his sword and charged.
"Grand Duke's Heir! What do you think you're doing?!"
So rigid. But I'd seen it coming.
I yanked the sword from the fallen knight's sheath and parried the count's strike. He was a mid-tier Master swordsman, elite—but his intent was just to subdue, which I easily shrugged off.
Even if he went all-out, no big deal.
Unlike the count, I was a battle-hardened veteran who'd clawed through countless perils, a master of survival swordsmanship. Realm gaps be damned—I wouldn't fold easily.
After a few clashes, I gained the edge in footwork, shoved him back to create distance, then pivoted and sprinted for the iron gate at the passage stairs.
As I closed in, the prison guards raised their spears in confusion.
Meyer Count chased, shouting belatedly.
"The Grand Duke's Heir is escaping! Stop him!"
Big mistake. The guards' spears visibly drooped at "Grand Duke's Heir."
"Outta my way!"
I poured aura into my blade, blasting the gate to scraps in one swing.
"Gr-Grand Duke's Heir...?"
Meyer Count froze in shock. The guards fled in panic, missing it, but he saw clear as day: my Aura Blade, a technique only 150 people on the continent could wield.
He must've wondered how I'd blocked his sword so well earlier. The power and speed gap between Master and Expert was huge, yet he'd been pushed back in our exchange.
I waved as I slipped through.
"See ya, Count Meyer. Bye-bye."
I flooded my legs with mana and bounded up the stairs. A few soldiers blocked briefly but scattered at my bellowed threats.
"I'm the Karl Grand Duke's Heir! Anyone who gets in my way dies! Even if I can't kill you now, I'll come back and finish the job!"
Horton Prison had a notorious reputation for tight security in the empire, but my escape was a breeze. Soldiers and knights alike tucked tail the moment they heard my name. I wove through the miraculously parting crowds and soon burst out the main gate.
"Free at last!"
"Grand Duke's Heir!"
But freedom was still distant. As I savored the moment, Meyer Count closed in.
I leaned forward and shot ahead like a spring—Survival Flight, an assassin-fused technique. Plenty stronger than me out there, maybe, but faster? Not many. I widened the gap and raced for the south gate.
Soon, under the ruddy sunset sky, the towering south wall loomed. Even as dusk fell, the central grand duchy streets teemed with pedestrians blocking my path. No issue—the count behind was hindered too. I zigzagged through the throng like a ghost until the south gate came into view.
'Huh. That bastard Donovan's on gate duty?'
Donovan guarding the south gate was a talented knight in the territory. Expert upper-tier in his mid-to-late twenties—not far off my own genius. That's why I'd showered him with gifts and gold for years to buy loyalty. Yet later, when Yosrahim's imperial palace fell to monsters, he betrayed me first—seducing nearly half my retainers and soldiers to follow him.
By the time I reached Taven lands, only Helen and Yosef's ragtag dozen remained—dead weight.
"Hey! Donovan, you shit!"
Spotting me, Donovan dismounted in haste, dropping to one knee.
"Grand Duke's Heir. You've come out?"
So disciplined, so loyal-looking. Falling for that act and making him my man? It pissed me off just thinking about it.
I reached the gate, used his head as a springboard to leap onto his horse, then galloped out yelling.
"Donovan! Better never show your face to me again. The day you do—even by chance—is your last!"
"Pardon?"
Donovan rubbed his head, staring baffled at my fleeing form.
He couldn't understand now, felt wronged maybe—but so did I. Without his sedition, my future wouldn't have crashed so hard. No one knew my despair back then.
I flipped off the receding Karl Castle.
'This damn house? I'm never coming back. Farewell forever!'
I bid my final goodbye to home. No plans to return to Karl lands.
Truth was, I wouldn't starve anywhere, and if I wanted, I could snag a noble title and lands with my skills. Why? I was one of the continent's 150 Masters.
Show my stuff, and kingdoms would beg to take me in.
But screw noble titles. No need to chain my life to someone else's loyalty.
I had maybe ten years left to live. Time to enjoy it while it lasted.
Afterward, I "acquired" work clothes, an axe, handcart, and pruning knife from a passing woodcutter. Not robbery—I gifted him my exhausted horse. Donovan might reclaim it later, but it was a fair trade.
"My father is the great Iron-Blooded Chancellor, but he's the type who couldn't eat it even if you shoved it in his mouth." End