Chapter 78

Chapter 78: Chapter 78

An oak forest lay on the outskirts of Nibelungen, and the imperial palace stood within it.

The grounds had merely been carefully tended while preserving as much of the forest as possible, emphasizing natural beauty rather than artificial elegance. It was said to reflect the tastes of Bellator I, the fifth Emperor, who had built the palace.

Rickart was staying as a guest in a room at the far end of the imperial palace. Enormous tapestries proudly depicting the history of the imperial family hung throughout its corridors.

Woven lavishly with gold, silver, crimson, and purple thread, they were exceedingly magnificent. Within the tapestries, the heroes of the past remained as gallant and dignified as ever.

Among them was Kaldevert, holding his sword high above his head. Before him lay a mountain of barbarian corpses, rendered entirely in crimson thread.

"What happened to that tattered red cloak of yours?"

Someone spoke from beside Rickart, who stood in the middle of the corridor admiring the tapestries. The remark was slightly mocking.

Rickart turned and found a young swordsman dressed lightly, with a long sidesword hanging from his waist.

His damp-looking sidelocks hung languidly on one side. Long eyelashes and sharply defined features gave him a striking appearance, and a ruby earring gleamed from one ear.

"Who are you?"

Rickart asked because he genuinely had no idea.

The young swordsman gave a derisive chuckle.

"Liberio di Bonatelli. In my homeland, I am known as Liberio the Skipping Stone. You would do well to remember it, Red Cloak. Though that nickname of yours sounds terribly impoverished. Unlike you poor northerners, red cloth is not particularly rare where we come from."

Judging by his name, he seemed to come from some distant southern country—or perhaps one of the republics. In any case, he appeared to have come to participate in the tournament, just like Rickart.

Rickart, however, could not understand what the man wanted from him. He knew that Liberio was mocking him, but it did not make him particularly angry.

Northerners tended to speak directly. When they wanted to provoke someone, they either openly hurled obscenities or demanded a fight.

Rickart therefore genuinely could not understand what this man was trying to accomplish.

"Ah, yes... I see."

"The title of the Nine Swords of the Empire is merely something ignorant peasants who know nothing like to prattle about. If you take any pride in it, I wished to inform you that it means nothing."

"Well, I’ll decide that for myself."

Liberio once again gave a derisive chuckle at Rickart’s mild response.

"How modest. Remain that way if you do not wish to hasten your death."

With that, Liberio walked past Rickart.

Tension seemed to fill the air for the brief moment when they drew close and passed each other, but Rickart neither froze nor became wary. He remained perfectly calm.

Liberio soon opened a door, proceeded into the next corridor, and disappeared.

The imperial palace accommodated renowned swordsmen who did not need to participate in the preliminary rounds. Liberio was one of them.

Rickart had no interest in how the other swordsmen lived, but he inevitably overheard certain things.

The swordsmen staying at the imperial palace could broadly be divided into two groups.

The first consisted of those who attended banquets every day, cultivated connections with the imperial princes, and formed factions among themselves.

The Empress had given birth to eight children. The eldest son had died young, making the current Emperor’s nine-year-old grandson the Crown Prince.

The second child and eldest daughter had married into a distant country, while the third child and second son had become a count and the Emperor’s direct vassal, so he was not at the imperial palace.

The second son ranked second in the line of succession, but he had shut himself away in his castle, severed contact with the outside world, and refused to appear in public.

That left only the fourth child through the youngest residing at the imperial palace. Among them were three imperial princes and two imperial princesses. The eldest prince among them had just reached adulthood at fifteen, while the youngest was six.

All the other imperial princes and princesses had originally been illegitimate children who were later formally recognized.

Although they shared the same father, the difference between them and the Empress’s children was as vast as that between heaven and earth.

Rickart heard that the fourth child, the Emperor’s third son, frequently socialized with the swordsmen. Whether that was because of ambition or simply because he was sociable remained unclear.

Consequently, the swordsmen were broadly divided between the Crown Prince’s faction and the Third Prince’s faction.

Amusingly, the Empire’s other lords had long been divided into precisely those two camps as well. The imperial palace currently seemed like a miniature version of the Empire’s political landscape.

However, Empress Dowager Varsilia, the current Emperor’s mother, led the Crown Prince’s faction and dominated imperial politics. On the surface, therefore, the Crown Prince’s faction held the advantage.

The second group of swordsmen staying at the imperial palace cared nothing for factions and simply kept to themselves.

Rickart belonged to that group.

Liberio was a member of the Third Prince’s faction and enjoyed a fairly close relationship with the prince. Perhaps that support had emboldened him enough to make a pointless remark to Rickart as he passed.

Rickart decided that standing in the corridor had led to an unwanted encounter, so he stopped admiring the tapestries, retrieved his sword from his room, and went outside.

He crossed the relatively small courtyard and passed through the main gate. The fresh woodland air seemed to wash his lungs clean.

Many of the oak trees were several centuries old. Some had grown into such strange shapes that they resembled magnificent works of art. They looked as though they had split in half long ago and then continued growing separately.

Moss clung to the trees, slightly damp and overflowing with vitality.

Walking through the forest made Rickart feel as though he might lose his way. Ranger outposts stood here and there, but their occupants did not particularly monitor him.

Their primary duty was to drive away wild beasts and maintain the forest and gardens.

In other words, they served as both gardeners and rangers.

Rickart did not enjoy banquets, so there was little for him to do besides take walks. Whenever boredom overtook him, he occasionally went into the city for a while before returning. If he happened to witness a brawl, it provided some entertainment.

Even so, he spent most of his time taking walks to pass the hours.

In any case, despite the imperial knight’s warning on the day Rickart arrived, the palace did not seem particularly dangerous.

Perhaps it was because he had no reason to become involved with the imperial princes. Nothing prevented him from living a peaceful, leisurely life.

At least, not yet.

"You there, swordsman."

Someone called to Rickart from above.

He raised his head and saw a child sitting on one of the thick branches of an ancient oak tree, looking down at him.

The boy appeared to be around ten years old. Rickart himself had left home at approximately that age.

Judging by the boy’s clothing, however, he was clearly one of the imperial princes. He wore a purple tunic embroidered in gold thread with the imperial family’s emblem, the Sacred Oak.

"Yes, Your Highness."

"What is your name?"

"Ricky."

"Is that so? Hmm. I have never heard of you."

"Pardon me, but I do not know Your Highness’s name either."

"What? Hahaha! I suppose that is understandable. I am Bellator. I bear the same name as my grandfather, who built this imperial palace."

He seemed to be approximately the current Emperor’s fifth or sixth child.

"I see. Bellator I appears to have been a man who truly understood beauty. He refrained from cutting down these ancient trees and preserved as much of the original forest as possible."

"I think so too. Come to think of it, you are the first person I have met who shares my opinion."

The young boy smiled faintly while imitating an adult’s manner of speech.

He slowly climbed down the tree. His extraordinarily expensive clothes became stained and scratched by dirt, bark, and debris, but Bellator did not seem concerned in the slightest.

Once the boy reached the ground, the top of his head came up to Rickart’s neck. Rickart was currently in the upper range of 170 centimeters.

Technically, Bellator and Marie were half-siblings. Perhaps because of that, Bellator shared Marie’s bright golden hair and snow-white skin.

He was also the current Crown Prince’s uncle.

"I am carrying a weapon. This does not seem like an appropriate situation."

Rickart spoke while holding his sword in one hand.

For an imperial prince to meet a stranger like this without any attendants was, quite literally, a serious security risk.

"Do you intend to harm me?"

"No."

"Then there is no problem. You shall serve as my escort."

Rickart’s eyes widened slightly in surprise.

Was the boy audacious, or did he simply have no sense of fear?

Then again, when it came to fearlessness, there were very few people who could surpass Rickart.

Had living in the imperial palace made him complacent about his safety? From Rickart’s perspective, having lived in a place akin to the harsh wilderness, Bellator seemed somewhat ignorant of the ways of the world.

Bellator clasped his hands behind his back and slowly walked through the forest. Rickart was somewhat dumbfounded, but followed him for the moment.

"Where are you going?"

"To see the witch. I’ve been curious about her myself, but until now, I didn’t think it was my place to interfere. Now that I have an escort, surely I can go."

"The witch?"

"Yes, Martellia. My half-sister."

Rickart frowned slightly.

"Why are you calling Marie a witch?"

"Marie?"

"Marie and I attended the same academy. We’re close friends."

"Is that so? I didn’t know. I heard that my sister was attending an academy. But my elder brother and His Highness the Crown Prince both call her a witch, so I said it without thinking. Forgive me for speaking carelessly."

Rickart’s rising anger quickly subsided when Bellator apologized so readily.

"It’s all right. Pay it no mind. More importantly, was Marie here?"

"You didn’t know? She has been staying at Irmin Castle for the past two weeks. She is the prize for winning, so naturally, she must be kept somewhere secure."

Two weeks ago would have been approximately one week before Rickart arrived at the imperial palace. That meant they had arrived at almost the same time.

Still, the word "prize" grated on Rickart’s ears.

"A prize? That is going too far."

"Hmm? Why?"

Judging by Bellator’s reaction, there was no malice in his words whatsoever.

"Marie isn’t a bird locked in a cage, much less an object. She’s a person too. How can anyone decide her fate without considering her wishes at all?"

"I suppose one could think of it that way. I had no idea. How interesting."

Bellator had grown up seeing the imperial family treat people as tools. Rickart’s words had just exposed him to a sensible perspective for the first time.

"Then are you saying that every human possesses free will?"

"Of course. When God created humanity, He did not create nobles and commoners as separate beings. Nobles and commoners are divided because they have different roles. Nobles have a duty to serve as protectors, while commoners have a duty to pursue their livelihoods and protect their families. By joining forces, they can repel even the mightiest enemy—just as the First Emperor defeated the Salaman people and crushed the orcs."

"I envy you. His Majesty my father has never told me anything like that."

Bellator’s circumstances were better than those of the illegitimate children, but even as the Empress’s son, he received no attention from his father.

"...Is that so? Perhaps you’re right. Thank you for speaking honestly, Ricky. Everyone else either flatters me or has no interest in me. You, however, speak from the heart."

"My father merely taught me that a man should value honesty as much as his life."

Rickart could find nothing to say about that. Living as an imperial prince seemed more difficult than he had expected. He even felt sorry for Bellator. After all, he was still only a child.

Moreover, Bellator was the Fifth Prince. He had three elder brothers, and the Crown Prince was his nephew. In other words, he was currently fifth in the line of succession, but effectively possessed no power whatsoever.

It appeared that even within the imperial family, sons who had no relevance to the succession were treated with contempt and sometimes forced to live miserable lives. The only difference was that, to preserve the imperial family’s dignity, they were outwardly dressed up like pretty dolls.

Bellator, however, did not seem particularly concerned about power. He did not appear ambitious either. Perhaps he was simply a child who could entertain himself perfectly well even when no one else paid attention to him.

With his hands still clasped behind his back, Bellator continued walking toward some unknown destination.

Eventually, the ground began to slope upward, and Rickart saw a defensive tower standing atop a low hill.

It had a thick cylindrical body and a steep conical roof. It looked inadequate for a castle, but in the distant past, labor had been scarce, so fortifications were generally built on this scale.

As time passed, people either moved elsewhere and constructed new castles or gradually expanded existing ones. Irmin Castle, however, appeared to have been abandoned long ago.

Vines grew wildly across its walls, and because the structure had been built for defense, its windows were small.

It effectively looked like a prison.

And Marie was inside it.

Approximately twenty people had gathered around the defensive tower. The apparent leaders of the group were the young Crown Prince and another imperial prince. The rest were attendants and swordsmen who had assembled for the tournament.

"Hey, witch! Show your face!"

The Crown Prince shouted, calling his own aunt a witch. He picked up a stone and threw it at a window, but it fell far short.

The Third Prince sneered.

"It is my turn now, Your Highness."

The Crown Prince huffed indignantly, but perhaps because the Third Prince was older, he did not protest.

The Third Prince selected a suitable stone and hurled it toward the window. The height was roughly correct, but his aim was not. The stone merely struck the wall and fell.

It appeared they were holding a competition to see who could attract Marie’s attention and make her look out the window.

"My turn!"

As soon as the Third Prince missed, the Crown Prince quickly stepped forward again. However, one of the men wearing a sword at his waist spoke up.

"Your Highness, may I try throwing it? I am Your Highness’s servant. If I succeed, it would be no different from Your Highness succeeding personally."

"Hmm? Well..."

The Crown Prince looked back and forth between the stone in his hand and the window high above. Even he seemed to realize that it was beyond his reach.

"Very well."

"This is a contest between His Highness the Crown Prince and the prince. Do not interfere without permission."

A swordsman on the Third Prince’s side stepped forward with a frown.

It seemed that adults were joining a children’s quarrel.

"I just received His Highness’s permission. Are you objecting to His Highness’s wishes?"

"...Tch."

Even if it was only nominal, the Crown Prince would become the next Emperor, so the Third Prince’s swordsman backed down. The Third Prince consoled him.

"I do not mind. I merely fear that you might suffer because of me."

"Your Highness..."

Perhaps because the Third Prince was older, he appeared more skilled at handling people than the Crown Prince.

Still, it was obvious that his words were insincere. His acting was clumsy. Perhaps he ought to take acting lessons from a vampire.

In any case, the swordsman on the Crown Prince’s side accepted the stone from him and hurled it toward the castle window.

The stone, propelled by mana with the speed of lightning, passed precisely through the window. It struck the ceiling and ricocheted with a sharp crack.

"Oh!"

"I shall enter the tournament as my champion."

Throwing stones was bad enough, but it could still be dismissed as a malicious prank.

This, however, was something else. The stone could have struck the ceiling, ricocheted in the wrong direction, and injured someone.

None of them seemed to care how Marie felt. They did not care whether she was injured either.

Their only concern was pleasing the Crown Prince and the Third Prince.

The Crown Prince was visibly delighted.

To swordsmen capable of wielding mana, the throw was nothing remarkable. Yet the Crown Prince’s reaction made the others envious.

I could do that too.

I could smash the entire thing apart.

Marie, however, did not look outside.

This time, someone from the Third Prince’s side stepped forward holding a dagger.

It was Liberio the Skipping Stone.

Liberio smiled confidently, leaned his upper body slightly backward, and aimed at the window of Irmin Castle.

He activated Mana Drive and sharply hurled the dagger.

But a stone flew in from somewhere and knocked the dagger aside in midair.

Clang!

Everyone flinched in surprise.

Then every swordsman turned toward the direction from which the stone had come.

It was Rickart.

His eyes wide with anger, Rickart spoke.

"Stop."

Some stared at him in bewilderment, while others looked offended by his insolence.

Regardless of their reactions, Rickart strode forward and positioned himself in front of the castle.

It looked as though one small human was attempting to protect an enormous fortress.

"Stop this idiotic bullshit."

Rickart repeated himself.

It was an unmistakable warning.

"Who are you?"

The young Crown Prince merely blinked, while the Third Prince frowned and questioned him.

An imperial prince had demanded an answer.

Depending on how he responded, Rickart could find himself in serious trouble.

People might call the imperial princes fucking bastards behind their backs, but no madman would dare speak recklessly to their faces.

How should he respond?

Should he grovel on his knees and beg them to stop?

Or should he apologize for his insolence while he still had the chance?

Neither.

Burning with fury, Rickart drew his sword and shouted. He stood proud and gallant, like one of the ancient heroes depicted in the tapestries.

"I am Rickart of House Kaldevern of Stormherz! By my rights as a nobleman, I challenge anyone who threatens this castle to a duel!"

Apart from his closest friends, this was the first time Rickart had publicly revealed his true name and origins.

The force of Rickart’s declaration startled the Third Prince into clamping his mouth shut.

And the shout reached beyond the window high above them.

It resounded like thunder.

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