Chapter 3
Chapter 3
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 3
Chapter Title: The War Hero Gets Married (3)
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Discard the dog after the hunt.
It's a common tale in history—kingdoms turning on the hero who slayed the Demon King, or plotting to kill the victor after a war.
I never imagined it would happen in this medieval fantasy world, let alone that I'd be the target.
'What a shitshow.'
I'd spent twelve years as a soldier, dragging us all the way to the armistice.
And my reward? Marriage to a 37-year-old spinster princess?
Is this what they mean when they say shock leaves you speechless?
-That lunatic Grates 18th. I'd kept him from being the Empire's doormat, and now he yells about marriage in front of everyone?
The words welled up to the tip of my tongue, but I couldn't bring myself to say them.
"Ha, haha..."
The armistice celebration banquet.
Twelve years of rivers of blood and mountains of corpses.
To cut to the chase: if I made one wrong move right now, war could erupt again in an instant.
There are endless details about the lead-up and plausibility, but the Empire was more than capable of it.
The moment I spat "You lunatic?" at King Grates 18th, the armistice talks would go up in flames, and the war would reignite.
Then marriage wouldn't be the issue—it'd be war all over again.
So for now, I hold my tongue.
I have to hold it.
"Your Majesty. Marriage?"
I'm holding it, but I ask the king as formally as possible.
"This is all so sudden. I'm at a loss."
"It is sudden. We didn't discuss it beforehand."
"Yes."
Exactly.
If there had been even a hint of this wedding beforehand, I could've consulted my subordinates or faked an illness to skip the banquet.
"A king's word is worth its weight in gold; it can't be taken back."
But this stunt? No matter how I look at it, he pulled it here in the banquet hall, in front of everyone, assuming no one would defy a royal command.
"You've issued a royal decree, so by my knightly honor, I must obey."
Why?
Some high-level political maneuver to pressure me?
"If you'd commanded a duel with one of the Swordmasters to celebrate the armistice, I'd do it right now..."
Is he exploiting how hard it'd be for me to curse him out or slap him mid-U-Tube live stream from the modern world—like putting a noose around my neck in advance?
"Why marriage?"
If it were malice like that, at least I could understand it rationally.
"Because you're a hero."
The problem is this Grates 18th.
He's not the type of king with the brains for political schemes.
"What could be the most special reward for the hero who saved the kingdom? I pondered and pondered, and nothing tops this."
"That being..."
"Marriage to my daughter."
This is a medieval fantasy world, the Grates Kingdom.
A place where even a birdbrain can wear the crown just for having royal blood.
"For a commoner like you, marrying a princess? What greater honor could there be! Hahaha!"
Yeah.
This king genuinely believes "marriage to my daughter" is the ultimate, ironclad reward for the hero who saved the world!
He means it sincerely.
"By the way, you..."
Sincerely, as a father thinking of his daughter.
"You don't dislike the idea of marrying my daughter, do you?"
"......"
"Not on purpose or anything, but take a look at the dress she's wearing. Doesn't the design remind you of a wedding gown?"
"I see."
With no malice, purely and innocently thinking of me—but that innocence is dragging me straight into the worst pit possible.
"You've known each other for twelve years now, right? Haha."
"......"
"Oops, look at me. We can't keep everyone standing here forever."
Grates 18th—no, the man himself—rose from the throne and raised his wine glass.
"Let the music play, and enjoy the feast! To the Alliance Kingdoms that survived twelve years of war with the Empire, and to the key figure in that armistice, Count Hans Wilhelm!!"
Clap clap clap.
Does the king even realize?
The moment he shouted "to," the nobles' cheers were far weaker than they should've been.
"...To him."
After the king dropped the marriage bomb and promptly left...
"Lord Wilhelm. Congratulations?"
"Haha. Count Winchester. I'm not sure it's worth congratulating."
I clinked champagne glasses while dealing with the swarm of nobles approaching me.
The first to toast was this silver-haired, blue-eyed nobleman who looked every bit the refined aristocrat: Count Jason Winchester.
As this kingdom's Prime Minister, he'd done everything he could on the home front—logistics, diplomacy—to let me focus on the war with the Empire.
A man I could trust not just in this country, but across the continent. A comrade who'd given his all from a different battlefield.
"What do you think, Lord Winchester? About His Majesty offering me the son-in-law position."
"His Majesty must believe in fairy tales where the hero who slays the Demon King marries the princess and lives happily ever after."
"Count...!"
As expected of a capable man—he saw right through how absurd the king's actions were.
"But if that fairy tale brings peace to the continent after the war with the Empire, I'll happily lobotomize myself and go 'teehee.'"
"Prime Minister."
"If sucking a pacifier could make this country peaceful, I'd do it. You know that, right?"
So he gets it, but he'll just play dumb?
"The result of my service to the kingdom is..."
"I don't like those fairy tales, but as a politician, let me tell you this."
Count Winchester whispered so only I could hear.
"If Lord Wilhelm just gets married, the kingdom will enjoy a century of peace."
"No."
"But if you don't... the continent will plunge into chaos. As a government official, this marriage is the surest way to stabilize the kingdom politically..."
Count Winchester winked at me briefly.
"As your friend, I'll respect Hans's choice."
"...If you're my friend, shouldn't you help stop the king from forcing me to marry a 37-year-old spinster?"
"Your friend James knows your tastes and is truly sorry, but in the end, I'm Count Winchester and the Prime Minister of Grates Kingdom. Lord Wilhelm."
He patted my shoulder and whispered even softer, just for me.
"...I'll gather some virgins to your taste at my estate, so I can at least give you one day a month to breathe."
"That's the only breather you can offer? In exchange for me getting married."
"You don't know how happy a married man is with one day of freedom a month."
"Should I relay that to your wife...? No, why get married if you're going to live like that?"
I can't understand it.
No matter how lovey-dovey Count Winchester is as a married man, that's probably a special case.
"Is there any reason to lose your freedom forever and spend your life watching someone else's mood?"
"We could talk about it over drinks, just the two of us, but unfortunately, there are countless people here looking for you."
Count Winchester glanced at the horde of nobles behind us and drained his glass.
"As your comrade and friend, I'll hear all your complaints."
"But you won't solve them."
"Sorry."
"No, don't apologize."
I downed my glass in one go too.
"I don't know what'll happen later, but don't apologize for nothing."
Nobles came one after another, all offering greetings like "Congratulations," "What an honor," "To the hero," and so on.
Escaping to the terrace for a moment from their congratulations, I breathed in the fresh air to steady myself.
Some were genuine, but true to high society, each hid their own ulterior motives beneath the cheers.
The general relief that I'd become a symbol of continental peace through marriage.
The military relief that, as a member of the Grates royal family, I'd forever be the kingdom's shield.
The relief of the twenty-something unmarried noblemen that noble girls with crushes on the 27-year-old war hero wouldn't be sending love letters anymore.
The relief of various fathers worried I'd be an irresponsible playboy toying with their daughters' hearts and bodies.
And for the kingdom as a whole, the relief of shedding their debt to Princess Knight Sylvia—who, at 25, chose war with the Empire over marriage and devoted herself to the nation until 37.
That's right.
Me marrying Princess Knight Sylvia alone would bring relief to 99.99% of the kingdom.
The only ones not relieved might be the beauties who can't sleep with me casually now that I'm becoming the king's son-in-law, deprived of my master-level techniques.
"Haa..."
Princess Knight Sylvia.
Objectively, she's a beauty.
Everyone calls her a spinster, but as far as I know, it's the pure sense—an "old virgin" who never married.
She's a hero who gladly sacrificed her life for the war with the Empire. True.
Being the king's son-in-law is attractive. True.
But.
'Not ten years older.'
She was 17?
I'd have bowed out right there.
27?
She must've agonized, weighed the pros and cons, calculated for maximum gain.
But.
'Forced marriage is bad enough, but a woman ten years older?'
......
"Should I just bolt?"
"Bolt on what?"
The terrace door opened.
"Lord Wilhelm."
The culprit herself—in her dress—stepped onto the terrace where I was.
"Princess Sylvia."
"Mind if we talk for a bit?"