Chapter 79

Chapter 79: Chapter 79

It was a beautiful forest, shaded in some places and bathed in sunlight in others. The ancient castle blended harmoniously with the old trees, appearing almost like a natural part of the forest.

It was a beautiful forest, shaded in some places and bathed in sunlight in others. The ancient castle blended harmoniously with the old trees, appearing almost like a natural part of the forest.

Sunlight descended from the sky in a straight line through the forest like a spear and struck Rickart’s sword. It flowed along the blade from its base to its tip.

A single droplet of light gathered at the sword’s point, causing several people to squint briefly against its brilliance.

The Third Prince was older than Rickart and had already reached adulthood, but he had been raised in a greenhouse. Now that he found himself facing a wild beast raised in the wilderness, he had no idea how to bring the situation under control.

No one had ever shouted at him like this before. Moreover, Rickart possessed such commanding intensity that it was difficult to believe they were close in age.

In truth, the Third Prince had little interest in tormenting Marie. He merely enjoyed demonstrating his superiority over the Crown Prince to everyone around him.

However, he too lacked the ability to handle a real problem when confronted with one.

A duel?

He had only ever heard stories about such things.

The nine-year-old Crown Prince was surprised, but his expression was closer to one of curiosity. He found the situation interesting and entertaining, so he merely stared at Rickart with wide, blinking eyes.

Bellator, who had come here with Rickart, also watched him from a distance. He had never seen such confidence in the imperial palace. It shocked him, yet at the same time, he felt almost drawn in.

Simply put, this was the first time Bellator had ever thought someone looked impressive.

There was no one in the imperial palace who was manly, warrior-like, or worthy of serving as a role model.

Everyone bowed their heads and behaved respectfully on the surface, but it was obvious that they secretly looked down on him. Bellator had therefore come to believe that all humans were different on the inside from how they appeared outwardly.

Yet someone who was not like that now stood before him.

So this was how impressive such a person could be.

Bewilderment, curiosity, and shock—the emotions the three imperial princes felt as they watched Rickart were all different.

The ones who were truly displeased were the swordsmen who had come for the tournament. A faint bloodlust emanated from them, but they restrained themselves because the Crown Prince and the imperial princes were present.

Those permitted to stay at the imperial palace had all passed Hellauman’s assessment, so every one of them was highly skilled. Rickart was not the only one who had fought battles in which life and death hung in the balance. Each of them had crossed the threshold of death in his own way.

They keenly assessed Rickart’s abilities—his stance, breathing, gaze, and mana.

The more proficient someone became with Mana Drive, the more accurately he could measure another person’s mana. Although they were not at Hellauman’s level, the people gathered here could usually assess it with near-perfect accuracy.

Strangely, however, they could not sense any mana from Rickart.

Yet he had clearly knocked the dagger aside in midair moments ago.

That had been a feat approaching the divine. Even for someone who had mastered Mana Drive, throwing an object from another angle and accurately striking a projectile in flight was nearly impossible.

That feat alone was enough to prove that Rickart deserved to stay at the imperial palace. His accuracy and reflexes were so highly developed that they almost transcended human limits.

But who would win if I fought him?

Could I defeat him without being injured?

He appears to use longsword techniques, but isn’t that weapon a little large for his build?

What kind of swordsmanship does he practice?

Does he rely primarily on the fierce, powerful attacks characteristic of the North?

Before they realized it, the swordsmen had forgotten all about impressing the Crown Prince and the Third Prince. They stared at Rickart like wild beasts confronting an unfamiliar rival.

Not one of them was frightened, yet none recklessly stepped forward either.

Then someone advanced.

It was Liberio the Skipping Stone.

Whether he was simply confident or believed he had accurately assessed Rickart was impossible to know.

"I believe I told you to remain modest. You’re quite the disobedient brat. Well, the tournament is still some time away. A little diversion should be entertaining."

Keeping a considerable distance from Rickart, who stood with his back to the castle, Liberio slowly circled him like a prowling wolf.

He drew the long sidesword with his right hand and held a dagger in his left. He appeared to be a dual-wielding swordsman.

It was an extremely difficult style of swordsmanship, but anyone who mastered it would struggle to find a worthy opponent.

"I hear you once killed a Sword Master. But did you know this? Once someone becomes a Sword Master, he sometimes fights only those weaker than himself, and his skills actually deteriorate. I heard that fellow called the Mad Dog did nothing but slaughter farmers. I don’t even need to see him to know how poor his skills must have been."

"Sorry, but I’ve never heard of you."

Rickart’s words carried another meaning:

Someone like you was never worthy of my attention.

"Tch. Then allow me to introduce myself again. I am Liberio, the Fourth Sword of the Bonatelli school of swordsmanship. Did you learn the sword from your family? Or at that academy? Either way, your swordsmanship has no foundation. I shall teach you the difference between a legitimate swordsmanship tradition and a brat who flaunts nothing but his natural talent."

Liberio had behaved the same way when they met in the corridor, but Rickart still could not understand what he was talking about.

His pride was obvious, but why would the pedigree of one’s swordsmanship matter in a duel to the death?

Liberio assumed his stance while remaining a considerable distance away. He placed his left foot forward and extended the dagger, while raising his sidesword above his head and pointing its tip toward Rickart.

With every step, however, he sometimes withdrew the dagger and extended the sidesword instead.

It looked insignificant, but it made it difficult to distinguish the weapon meant to distract from the one intended to deliver the primary attack.

The problem with using such a technique poorly was that the wielder could confuse himself. But since Liberio had earned Hellauman’s approval, he was undoubtedly capable of switching between the weapons freely.

One step forward, one step sideways.

Alternating his leading and rear hands, Liberio slowly approached Rickart.

Because the sidesword and dagger differed so dramatically in length, it became difficult to judge his range whenever he switched hands.

At least, it would have been difficult for someone else.

Rickart bent his knees slightly and raised his sword beside his face. All the while, he stared into Liberio’s eyes with his distinctive cold gaze.

Then, in the midst of changing stances, Liberio abruptly thrust his sidesword straight ahead.

The duel began.

Rickart swung his sword directly from the front. He was far faster and more powerful than he had once been.

Yet Liberio’s sword, which had been thrusting directly forward, bounced several times in an instant, just like a stone skipping across water.

The blade slipped past Rickart’s sword and shallowly slashed his right upper arm. At the same time, Liberio used his footwork to evade Rickart’s blade by the narrowest possible margin.

Cling! Scrape!

A rosy afterimage lingered in the air.

Liberio appeared to be only one step away from becoming a Sword Master.

He thrust his dagger upward from below, aiming at Rickart’s abdomen. It was his hidden trump card, intended to end his opponent’s life.

From a distance, it looked as though he were stabbing with something crimson.

Astonishingly, however, Rickart pulled back the sword he had extended and brought its pommel down precisely upon the dagger.

Infusing a weapon with mana increased its sharpness and durability.

In an age when the quality of iron goods, including weapons, varied tremendously, that alone produced immense destructive power. Once someone became a Sword Master, he could cut through shields and armor as though slicing cheese.

Yet Rickart had broken a mana-infused blade with his pommel.

For a moment, common sense itself seemed to have been violated.

The swordsmen watching were all astonished.

They still could not sense any mana from him.

This had happened because Rickart had acquired the strength of Illiya, the legendary hero said to have slain a dragon. Rickart’s raw physical power exceeded that of most people using Mana Drive.

Rickart closely pursued Liberio as the latter retreated. Rather than attacking, he seemed focused solely on closing the distance.

Despite possessing transcendent physical strength, he did not depend on it alone.

Liberio quickly moved sideways and swung his sidesword at the wrist of Rickart’s sword hand.

Rickart turned his blade and knocked the wind-like attack aside with his guard.

Clang!

Crack!

The mana-infused dagger broke.

Before Liberio could even register the pain in his wrist, he rapidly opened the distance between them.

His immediate reaction despite the momentary shock was worthy of praise.

But he could not conceal his bewilderment.

Was what had just happened even possible?

Then crimson mana erupted from him like an explosion.

A continuous barrage of attacks followed as naturally as breathing.

Whoosh!

Thud!

The stylish, damp-looking sidelocks.

The ruby earring hanging from one ear.

Liberio’s head separated from his body.

The Crown Prince, who had been watching the duel, opened his eyes wide and exclaimed in wonder.

"What? What happened? I couldn’t see it properly. But that was incredible!"

Fearlessly, the Crown Prince attempted to scamper toward the swordsman who had just finished a duel.

The nearby knights hurriedly lifted him off the ground and restrained him.

"What are you doing? Let me go!"

Liberio’s body, which had been moving so violently moments before, lost all control. It spun around before collapsing with a heavy thud, spraying blood in a circle.

His head, which had flown upward, dropped to the ground only after his body fell.

And so, the swordsman with the "legitimate foundation" lost his head and died.

The duel was over.

The observing swordsmen shuddered.

They had witnessed a strange technique none of them had ever seen or heard of, followed by Rickart’s concise destruction of that technique and its wielder. For a moment, none of them could speak.

It might have looked easy, but they knew it had been anything but.

Most importantly, Rickart had never panicked or become excited. From beginning to end, he had not made a single unnecessary movement.

Even after the duel ended, Rickart remained perfectly calm. He merely looked down at the cut in the clothing over his right upper arm.

There was no blood.

The blade had not reached his skin.

"Wow..."

"He has not yet sheathed his sword, Your Highness."

At the knight’s warning, Rickart wiped the blood from his blade and returned it to its scabbard.

The Crown Prince immediately scampered over again, looked up at Rickart, and spoke.

"That was incredible! I’ve never seen a real duel before. You said you were Rickart of House Kaldevern, didn’t you? Are you entering the tournament too?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

Rickart bowed his head as he answered.

A decapitated corpse lay nearby, yet the Crown Prince paid it no attention.

He had seen things like that many times at public executions.

At that moment, he was simply captivated by the contest itself—a clash into which two swordsmen had poured the skills of a lifetime.

Of course, Rickart had not fought with his full strength. To someone ignorant of the sword, however, it had looked magnificent regardless.

"Weren’t you afraid?"

The Crown Prince asked.

"Everyone is afraid at first. But once you become accustomed to it, you are no longer afraid."

"Really? Then how long would I have to practice before I could fight like you?"

"I don’t know that myself. However, if you train diligently and continue testing yourself against others, there will come a time when you feel certain."

"Is that so? Good. Then teach me swordsmanship. Come to my room every morning. I already have a swordsmanship instructor, but he isn’t as impressive as you."

This was completely unexpected.

Rickart felt as though he had become entangled in something troublesome.

But if he wanted to protect Marie, he had little choice.

"In return, would Your Highness release Princess Martellia from the castle and ensure that no one is allowed to torment her?"

"Hmm... I would like to grant your request, but the Count Palatine made that decision. I’ll have to ask Grandmother. She probably won’t allow it. I’m sorry."

The true authorities within the imperial palace were someone else entirely.

They were the Empress Dowager and Hellauman.

The Crown Prince was still too young to make such decisions.

"...Understood. I’ll see you tomorrow morning."

"No. I want to talk with you some more. Follow me."

The Crown Prince took Rickart’s bloodstained hand and pulled him away. The Third Prince and Bellator could only watch. Rickart was dragged along in bewilderment, with the escort knights following behind them.

The swordsmen of the Crown Prince’s faction had worked desperately to win his favor, so they were dumbfounded when Rickart captured all his attention at once.

After passing through the forest, Rickart was taken to the Crown Prince’s room. It was enormous and excessively ornate, yet it looked refined rather than vulgar.

Mobiles hung from the ceiling, and mountains of strange toys were piled throughout the room. Every one of them was a meticulously crafted masterpiece created by the finest artisans.

"Do you see a toy you like? Shall I give you one?"

The Crown Prince asked with an innocent smile.

Was he naive or simply pure?

At the Crown Prince’s age, Rickart had already left home, defeated bandits, and wandered from one battlefield to another.

The Crown Prince apparently did not know how to win someone’s affection. He simply gave nice things to people he liked and reported those he disliked to his grandmother so she could punish them. Since he had never possessed a true friend, that was perhaps only natural.

Everyone other than the imperial princes therefore worked hard to remain in the Crown Prince’s good graces.

Rickart, however, did not.

Moreover, all his thoughts were currently focused on Marie.

"These things are unusual, but they do not interest me. I am merely a swordsman who came to participate in the tournament. I must compose myself and concentrate on the approaching matches, so I will take my leave. I shall visit you every morning, but I don’t believe I can play with you all the time."

"Huh? Uh... Um..."

The Crown Prince’s mind went blank for a moment because he had never experienced anything like this before.

Rickart was courteous, but not servile. Nor did he flatter him.

The Crown Prince had truly never met anyone like him.

He suddenly grew anxious, wondering what he could do to make Rickart like him.

"I-I can give you a fine sword too. Or a horse. I have armor as well. You like those things, don’t you?"

Rickart shook his head at every offer.

He did like such things, but he could not accept them this way. Feelings such as friendship and love could not be purchased in exchange for something else.

"You cannot buy a person’s heart with money or possessions. Don’t be impatient. Let us take our time getting to know each other. There is always tomorrow, isn’t there?"

"You expect me to wait until tomorrow?"

The Crown Prince had always obtained anything he wanted immediately, so he possessed no patience whatsoever.

"If waiting is painful, why not occupy yourself with something else? Then the time will pass quickly."

"How?"

"You could read a book or practice swordsmanship, since you said you wished to learn it. Revisit the things you cast aside after growing tired of them, one by one. Perhaps you’ll discover something enjoyable that you failed to notice before."

"...Do you think so? All right. I’ll try."

"I shall take my leave, Your Highness."

"Okay..."

The Crown Prince answered dejectedly.

As Rickart looked at him, he thought that the boy was not inherently bad. Something was merely missing from him because of the environment in which he had been raised.

Being the Crown Prince seemed almost like a curse. It appeared to have robbed him of the opportunity to learn, endure pain, overcome adversity, gain understanding, and grow.

Like a beautiful bird, Rickart captured the Crown Prince’s heart and then escaped his grasp.

He headed back toward Irmin Castle.

By the time he arrived, the corpse had been removed, leaving only the bloodstains behind. No one remained around the castle.

They had gathered there in the first place only to win the favor of the Crown Prince and the Third Prince. Once those two departed, everyone else naturally left as well.

Rickart raised his head and looked toward the window.

They were so close, yet they could not see each other.

He sat with his back against the castle wall and remained still.

Should he shout and try to speak to her?

Would that be all right?

Various thoughts crossed his mind, but he could not bring himself to act on them. As he hesitated and allowed the time to pass, the sun eventually set.

Rickart rose and was about to return to the imperial palace. Then, overcome by a feeling of reckless determination, he grabbed the vines and began climbing the castle.

It was extremely dangerous.

If a vine snapped, he could fall and suffer severe injuries. Sure enough, the vines nearly broke several times with ominous tearing sounds.

Nevertheless, Rickart managed to reach the window.

Moonlight spilled into the room. Silk curtains surrounded the bed, and he could see a silhouette beyond them.

"Marie."

Standing on the vines and leaning against the window frame, Rickart called her name.

The silhouette sitting on the bed did not respond.

"Marie, it’s me. Ricky. Are you all right? I was worried, so I came to see you."

Rickart spoke again, but there was still no answer.

Only after a long silence did she finally respond.

"What does it have to do with you?"

Her words were cold, but her voice trembled faintly.

Hearing Marie’s voice again after so long made Rickart’s heart swell for reasons he could not explain.

"There’s something I need to tell you. Could you come over here for a moment?"

"..."

Marie remained motionless for a long time. Then she drew aside the silk curtain and emerged.

She wore a thin nightdress, and her long hair hung loose.

The gentle moonlight draped across her looked like a garment woven especially for her.

She was breathtakingly beautiful, but her expression was as cold as ice. She seemed to be challenging him to say whatever he had come to say.

Rickart struggled to speak first.

"First... Well, I came here because I intend to enter the tournament too."

"...If you win, wouldn’t you receive something you never wanted?"

Winning meant becoming engaged to Marie.

But Rickart had once rejected her feelings. That was what she meant.

"No. I do want it. Because I like you too."

Rickart smiled and plainly revealed his feelings.

Marie looked confused.

He was not someone who would joke about such a thing.

What was happening?

But Rickart’s confession was not finished.

"You see, I carry a deep wound inside me. I was afraid that if I genuinely came to love someone, that wound would be torn open even further and I would lose myself. Honestly, I’m still incredibly anxious. I think I needed time before I could approach you. But I can say this with certainty—I like you, Marie."

Marie stared intently at Rickart, particularly into his eyes.

His unwavering hazel eyes were purer than anything else and utterly incapable of falsehood.

Marie knew that better than anyone.

She blinked.

Then she blinked rapidly, and an extraordinarily complicated expression crossed her face.

She looked as though she might cry, yet also as though she might smile. Her emotions surged so violently that she could no longer distinguish sorrow from joy.

Perhaps embarrassed by her own reaction, Marie turned her head and concealed her face behind her long golden hair, which gleamed in the moonlight.

All the anguish that had made her feel as though she were dying was suddenly washed away as if it had been a lie.

More than that, it transformed into such overwhelming joy that she felt she might lose consciousness and collapse.

Marie tried to force a smile and pretend that nothing was wrong, but she kept wiping away her tears with trembling hands.

Each falling teardrop looked like a bead of moonlight.

"May I wipe away your tears?"

Rickart, who had been watching her quietly, finally spoke.

"What are you talking about, idiot? I’ll wipe them myself."

"Hmm. So Bori was right."

"What did Bori say?"

"He said you were a female Ricky."

Marie was so dumbfounded that her tears immediately stopped.

She turned toward Rickart with an incredulous laugh, her tearful sapphire eyes sparkling.

Rickart gazed at her with the gentlest smile in the world.

"What do you think? Does that sound right?"

"No. Not at all. You’re the worst."

"I’m the worst, but you still like me."

"Hah!"

Marie exhaled in disbelief.

She could not deny it, and before she realized it, a smile had spread across her lips.

"Then does that make me a male Marie?"

"Stop it, Ricky. It isn’t funny."

"But you already laughed."

"I laughed because it was ridiculous, not because it was funny."

"Fine, let’s leave it at that. Anyway, how have you been? What’s the academy like?"

"It was just boring. Callie wants to become a professor. Did you know she’s surprisingly good with a sword?"

"Really? I didn’t know that."

"You know the book Boribori wrote? Apparently, it’s incredibly helpful."

"What about mine?"

"That one is..."

Marie could not bring herself to tell him that no one read it because no one understood what it meant.

"Not many people read it. I think only the more advanced students do."

"Just as I expected. Mine really was the superior book."

"...R-Right. Anyway, how have you been?"

"Oh, that reminds me. Marie, have you ever seen a vampire? A high-ranking vampire?"

"A vampire?"

"Graduates receive their first commission, remember? You know Sally, right? That woman..."

Rickart began telling her about the special-rank commission from the previous year.

It had been an extraordinary experience, and perhaps Armant was the reason he was here now. Her instruction to face himself had helped him gradually overcome his fear and reveal his feelings.

Yet Rickart and Marie merely continued their trivial conversation as though they had last met only yesterday.

It felt so comfortable.

Simply being together felt wonderful.

They needed nothing extraordinary, because when they looked at each other, every little thing became special.

At some point, Marie sat on the window ledge and looked down at Rickart as she listened to his story.

Stars seemed to spill from the gazes of the boy and girl as they looked at one another.

Then, before either of them was consciously aware of it, their lips met.

A cloud drifted across the sky and briefly concealed the moon, as though preventing it from peeking.

Chapter 15: The Imperial Princess in the Oak Forest — End

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