Vice Commander Philip Meyer (Part 2)
It had been roughly a month since Third Prince Edwin joined the knight order's training drills.
Unlike his clumsy start, Edwin now moved through the routines with noticeable ease. As he ran amid the pack of Third Division Knights, one of the men jogged up alongside him to strike up a conversation.
"You're keeping up quite well these days, Your Highness."
Edwin rubbed beneath his nose in bashful embarrassment at the knight's compliment. Seeing that, other knights chimed in from all directions.
"Right? At first, he was sweating bullets just trying to keep up with our shadows."
"He's improved leaps and bounds compared to day one, that's for sure."
"At this rate, isn't Your Highness going to become a full-fledged Gloria Knight yourself?"
"Yeah! His Highness can enlist, and you can pack your bags and get kicked out."
"What? Why you little punk!"
Edwin chuckled softly along with their banter. Remembering their very first encounter, such warmth was something he could never have imagined back then.
Catherine really played a huge role in this.
Edwin recalled the day Catherine had first visited the barracks. It had been about a week after he began attending the morning drills. Catherine had come looking for the order, accompanying Rachel.
Rachel was one thing, but I never expected Catherine to come along too.
If anything, Rachel had looked as if she had chewed on a bitter bug, wearing an expression that screamed she wanted to be anywhere else in the world.
"Oh my goodness~ Hello, Sir Knights! You must all be so exhausted from your hard training!"
Edwin had not been the only one stunned; the Third Division Knights had frozen in equal shock. Unlike the highborn knights of the upper divisions, these commoner enlistees had never had occasion to speak with women serving in the imperial palace. So what was bound to happen when not just one, but two elegant palace attendants appeared before their very eyes?
While the Third Division Knights trembled like bashful bachelors cornered at a village festival, Catherine pressed a hand to her chest and dipped into a graceful curtsy.
"Oh dear, look at my manners. I am Catherine Veil, head maid in service to the Third Prince."
Taking the large wicker basket Rachel was holding, Catherine hoisted it up for the knights to see.
"I packed some refreshments to keep your spirits and strength up. Please, help yourselves!"
Inside the basket lay sliced roasted ham, fresh apple pies, and bottles of cool milk. The moment they saw the spread, the knights' faces lit up with sheer, unadulterated joy.
"His Highness personally gave orders to prepare a bountiful feast, so please eat to your hearts' content~!"
Edwin had tilted his head in confusion at Catherine's declaration. He had never given any such order. Just as he opened his mouth to clarify, Catherine shot him a beaming smile while secretly shaking her head in a tiny, frantic motion. Beside her, Rachel casually raised an index finger to her lips.
While Edwin stood there blinking in utter bewilderment at their cryptic signals—
"Thank you, Your Highness!"
A thunderous roar of gratitude shook the entire training grounds. It was likely from that very day that the Third Division Knights began to view the neglected young prince in an entirely new light.
Ever since that morning, Catherine made a habit of visiting the knight order every other day, laden with homemade snacks. Thanks to her efforts, Edwin's popularity among the Third Division Knights skyrocketed with each passing day.
"Your Highness, regarding that lady... Is she seeing anyone seriously?"
"That lady?"
"You know, the angel with the ivory hair."
"Ah, you mean Catherine?"
"Yes, sir!"
"I don't know for certain, but probably not?"
"WOOOH-OOOOH—!"
The knights erupted into bizarre, guttural cheers at Edwin's innocent response. In tandem, Catherine's fame among the ranks was growing by leaps and bounds.
"I see. It seems all that fine food has made your bodies heavy and your tongues loose."
"Gah! Vice Commander! When did you—?!"
Preoccupied with their gossip, they had failed to notice Philip catching up from behind with silent, disciplined strides.
"Ten more laps. Both ways."
"Aaaargh! Vice Commander! That's too cruel—!"
Wailing in despair, the knights broke into a desperate sprint. Edwin swallowed a sigh and leaned forward to run alongside them, but—
"Your Highness."
Philip stepped forward, cutting him off.
"Could you spare me a moment of your time?"
It was an unexpected request. Edwin's eyes rounded in surprise, but he had no intention of refusing.
"Huh? O-Oh, of course."
"This way, then."
Philip turned on his heel to lead the way. It was extraordinarily rare for anyone outside the Third Prince's Palace to seek Edwin out of their own accord. A swirl of nervous apprehension and timid excitement fluttered in Edwin's chest as he trailed closely behind the tall knight.
"Um, Sir Philip?"
Edwin hesitated and came to a stop. Philip had brought him directly into his personal office. Had his performance during drills displeased the commander? Had he brought him here to tell him never to show his face again? The young prince's pupils trembled with fragile unease.
"What is the matter, bringing me all the way here...?"
"Take this."
"Huh?"
Contrary to Edwin's dread, Philip neither reprimanded him nor cast him out. Instead, he simply retrieved something from a desk drawer and held it out.
Gloves?
Edwin received the offering with both hands. They were leather gloves dyed a deep, dark brown, giving off a distinct and supple sheen.
"They are crafted from wyvern hide. Wear them whenever you climb the obstacle ladders."
"Ah."
Edwin looked down at his own palms. Without him even noticing, his small, pale hands had become ragged with broken blisters and rough calluses from the relentless physical drills.
"Still... I shouldn't be the only one receiving something like this..."
"You need not concern yourself with the Third Division Knights."
The knights of Gloria were seasoned brutes who had endured brutal physical conditioning for years, gripping broadswords day in and day out. Their leathery palms bore no comparison to a fragile boy's unhardened skin.
"Your Highness could easily procure gloves of far greater quality. If these are not to your liking, you may simply throw them away..."
"No! I will never throw them away!"
Edwin's voice rose with uncharacteristic sharpness. He carefully slipped the gifted gloves over both hands, smoothing the leather along his wrists. Staring down at his clad fingers, the young prince's eyes sparkled with a dazzling, intense brilliance—so much so that it was almost overwhelming to look at.
"...Do they suit you?"
"Yes!"
Edwin nodded with a radiant beam. It was a smile reminiscent of a dormant flower bud finally bursting into full, vibrant bloom.
"Thank you, Sir Philip!"
"...It was nothing."
Philip rubbed the back of his neck, feeling thoroughly awkward as he watched the prince flex his fingers repeatedly, savoring the snug fit. It felt somewhat bewildering to see someone rejoice so fervently over such a modest token.
It isn't as though he has never received a gift before in his life.
Just as that passing thought crossed Philip's mind, Edwin looked up with a bright, innocent grin, as if reading his internal thoughts.
"This is the first time anyone other than Emma has ever given me a present!"
"...Pardon?"
"Ah, no, wait. There's Leo too! Sir Philip is the third!"
Philip was genuinely stunned. Even if court sneered at him as the penniless 'scruff' prince, he was still an imperial prince by blood—yet he had never received a proper gift?
"A-Are you being serious?"
"About what? That you're the third?"
"No... that this is truly only the third time you have received a gift."
"Yes, really." Edwin paused for a moment in thought before answering with utter conviction. "This is truly the third present I've ever received directly from someone's own hands."
Wait, under ordinary circumstances, don't nobles personally present tribute directly to royalty? Unless it was bulk tax goods sent from distant territories...
"...Then I am honored to be the third."
There was a mountain of questions Philip wished to ask, but he held his tongue. Watching Edwin cradle his gloved hands as if holding fragile treasure, Philip quietly studied the boy for a long moment before speaking once more.
"...Prince Edwin."
"Yes?"
"If it pleases Your Highness..."
Edwin gazed up at him with wide, round eyes. Meeting the young prince's earnest gaze square-on, Philip continued with steady solemnity.
"May I instruct Your Highness in the art of swordsmanship?"
"Sir Philip said that?"
"Yes!"
I stared quietly at Edwin, who was practically vibrating with excitement across the table. Freshly returned from his daily training with the knights, the boy was overflowing with unprecedented energy today.
"Sir Philip told me that if I'm willing, he'll personally teach me swordsmanship!"
Edwin leaned forward so eagerly he looked ready to tumble headfirst over his dinner plate.
"I can learn swordsmanship, right? Please, Rachel?"
For a boy whose dining etiquette was usually impeccable, seeing him this worked up at the dinner table was a rare sight indeed.
Did he truly want to learn the sword that badly?
The only reason I had shoved him into the knight order's basic conditioning was simply to build up his physical stamina. I had operated under the assumption that no knight of standing would ever bother volunteering to teach an unfavored prince the blade.
Besides, it isn't as though I could teach him my own techniques, so perhaps this worked out for the best.
Just as a knight's swordsmanship was unmistakable in its discipline and form, an assassin's blade was unmistakably an assassin's. If an imperial prince of Ventrum were to unsheathe the lethal, pragmatic arts of a salsu, accusing fingers would inevitably point at him from every corner of the realm.
After all, my swordcraft is specialized solely in murder.
A fatal, single-strike execution style entirely devoid of knightly dignity or aesthetic grace. And it wasn't merely the swordcraft either. Everything I had mastered within the syndicate was cut from that very same cloth—the cold, ruthless mindset of stopping at nothing to snuff out a target's life, and the most efficient anatomical methods to slaughter without leaving a trace.
Such things...
I looked down quietly at Edwin, whose eyes shone with pure, untainted admiration as his small fingers tugged persistently at my sleeve.
...are things I could never bring myself to teach a child like him.
Hmm, Philip Meyer.
A commoner-born knight who carved his way up to become the Vice Commander of the empire's greatest knight order.
That isn't half bad.
Recalling the glimpse I had caught of him in the training grounds, a faint smirk grazed my lips. He had struck me as a rather conservative, uncompromising, rigid sort of man. A man of that disposition would wield an upright, honest blade. He wouldn't know the first thing about taking sleazy shortcuts or playing underhanded tricks.
He might actually be the ideal master for this boy.
I gave a subtle nod toward Edwin, who was still looking at me with desperate, pleading eyes.
"It sounds like a wonderful opportunity. You may do as Your Highness pleases."
"Really? Truly?!"
"Yes. However, it would be wise to keep this matter strictly between us."
If the palace caught wind that Edwin was receiving private sword instruction from Gloria's Vice Commander, there were plenty of vultures who would not take it lying down—most notably, the Second Concubine, who was obsessed with paving the path for her own son to claim the throne.
"I will speak to Sir Philip separately regarding the arrangement."
"Hurray!"
Edwin nodded vigorously, his whole head bobbing up and down in sheer elation. With permission granted, he promptly dug into the food set before him with ravenous enthusiasm.
Yet as the minutes ticked by, Edwin's lively complexion gradually drained away, turning a sickening, ghostly shade of blue.
"...Urgh."
In the end, right after forcing down the final spoonful of broth, Edwin dropped his silver spoon onto the porcelain bowl with a sharp clatter.
"I had thought it about time you built up a proper resistance, yet it seems we are not quite there."
Watching the boy clutch his stomach, panting raggedly for breath, I spoke with cool, practiced indifference.
"It is Desert Scorpion Venom. How does it taste?"