LP 3.7 The Prince’s Rebellion

“Everything vanished in a single instant, yet it’s quite ironic. Their blood and tears seeped into the bedrock of the land where they died, and as a result, that entire area developed a strong magic resistance.”

“Ah.”

“And when the King of Callot heard that news… he felt deeply sorry for them and developed the place into a mine!”

Humans are truly repulsive, aren’t they? she added.

Kosha stared blankly down at the handcuffs encircling his wrists. His words came out hesitantly.

“I’ve never heard such a story before.”

“In the past, life revolved mostly around habitats. There was hardly any exchange. Well, I don’t know much about ‘your kind’ either….”

Her sharp eyes narrowed, gazing at Kosha as if searching for something. When Kosha shrank back and looked around warily, she burst into a loud, raucous laugh.

“So, tell me.”

“Yes?”

“What are your thoughts?”

“My thoughts?”

Kosha blinked in bewilderment. What thoughts? That the fairies are pitiful…? That it’s regrettable and sad…?

It seemed his thoughts were transparent just from his hesitating expression. The woman waved her hand as if frustrated.

“No, after hearing a story like that, do you still intend to keep those things on your wrists? I thought you’d be disgusted and tear them off immediately.”

Kosha looked down at his handcuffs once more. His pupils rolled in confusion.

“But these are… Idelma Gold….”

“Yes, Idelma Gold!”

She shrieked and stood up from her seat.

“What on earth have you been listening to? Don’t you understand? In the end, it’s a matter of the magnitude of power. Idelma Gold isn’t omnipotent. It’s just a lump of stone that absorbed fluids with magic resistance.”

“…….”

“It’s a matter of concentration. Depending on the case, one can even develop a tolerance.”

Her subtle voice whispered suggestively in his ear. It was the moment Kosha was about to retort.

“Can you really not unlock them? Think carefully.”

—And in an instant, his heart sank. The wrists tightened by the handcuffs trembled.

No one spoke, but in that moment, everyone present knew the answer.

And they knew that everyone else knew the answer too.

He swallowed hard. Kosha slowly shook his head.

“I can’t unlock them.”

“…Is that so?”

So that’s how it is. She tilted her head with a smile.

“Then shall I unlock them for you?”

“…….”

Hostility flickered in his green eyes. Suddenly, the handcuffs around his wrists vibrated minutely, and Kosha hurriedly bit his lip and stepped back.

“I don’t want you to.”

“…….”

“Don’t touch me.”

When he turned his handcuffed hands away as if to hide them, the silver-haired woman looked appalled.

“You have a good lineage, but you’re a complete fool. What did you think you were listening to? After hearing that, do you still wish to stay by that prince’s side? By that Callot bloodline?”

“…I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

Kosha shook his head.

Was she telling him to discuss the sins of his ancestors? But if they were to discuss every sin flowing through their veins, Kosha wouldn’t be particularly clean either.

The silver-haired Mage clicked her tongue softly. Kosha turned his head to avoid the neat fingers that reached out as if to cup his cheek.

“You naive little lizard….”

“I am just a Mage.”

“Humans are all the same; they never change. Their greed, that is…. Whether it was a thousand years ago, a hundred years ago, or now, it remains constant.”

“…….”

“The more lenient you are, the more they will want. They will squeeze your mana, squeeze your blood, and squeeze your tears. Even then, they won’t be satisfied and will demand more.”

“His Highness is not that kind of person.”

“Is he?”

She gave a short laugh.

“You’re still young, so it can’t be helped. Well… I had my moments too.”

“I am already an adult. I’ve lived on my own for a long time.”

“What meaning does human time have for us? You’re just a lizard whose wings haven’t even sprouted yet.”

She cut Kosha off. Wings? What wings? Surprised by this unexpected detail, Kosha instinctively fidgeted with his shoulders.

“Since I’ve lived a long time, I suppose I should be indulgent.”

The silver-haired woman detached a button from her collar. It was a simple silver button with no pattern.

“If you ever wish to meet me, use this. You will know how to use it when the time comes.”

“…….”

“Now, go and enjoy the folly of youth to your heart’s content. That, too, is a privilege of one’s young days.”

She walked slowly toward the door. The moment her hand touched the doorknob, Kosha spoke.

“Wait a moment.”

And as if she had expected it, the silver-haired Mage turned her head.

“By any chance, do you know the Gaikrux Tower Lord?”

“…Well, I know as much as I need to.”

She gave an ambiguous smile.

“Why do you ask?”

“I met a Mage named… Alpi. He seemed to be on bad terms with the Tower Lord.”

“Ah, Alpi…. Well, I think I’ve heard that name once or twice.”

Were they on bad terms? I’m not sure. she muttered.

“You don’t know?”

“I’m not sure. I think there was an arrogant fellow by that name in the past? I wonder where he’s living these days?”

“…If you don’t know, then forget it.”

Kosha shook his head. She chuckled again.

“Very well. Farewell then. Give my regards to the fifth child.”

“…….”

“Though, looking at you, I suspect you won’t tell him about this meeting.”

Kosha flinched. Regardless, she pulled open the door to the outside without hesitation. However, beyond it, there were no guards or corridors—only a pitch-black darkness stretching out.

She walked straight into it. Only the hem of her red cloak flickered like a tongue until the very end before being sucked into the darkness.

Then, the door slammed shut.

It was a noise loud enough to shake the room, but there was no reaction from the guards who should have been ‘outside the door.’

---

“The King’s Mage has not shown his face today either.”

Gosrick approached and whispered lowly in his ear. Without changing his expression, Lucian cast his eyes down slightly, then immediately smiled brightly and clapped. It was the moment the royal cavalry marched out in formation in front of the main tower’s watchtower.

At the thunderous sound of applause, the King sitting on the throne shuddered as if startled. Lucian pressed down firmly on the King’s shoulder with one hand to soothe him.

“Your Majesty, you must show dignity.”

“Wh-what is happening, Lucian?”

“We are holding the departure ceremony for Brother Bastian.”

It was the third time he had repeated the same words. Bastian, Bastian… The King rambled incoherently before his eyes widened.

“Betsy is departing? Where to?”

Lucian’s jaw tightened behind his smiling face. You’re the one who caused this, you damn bastard. Barely suppressing the urge to strangle his father right then and there, he answered with forced softness.

“…He is going to the North.”

“Is that so? How did it come to this? It will be dangerous, so he must be careful….”

The King muttered. The royal physician diagnosed it as delirium due to aging, but for Lucian, he couldn’t tell how this differed from simply going insane.

He patted the King’s shoulder half-heartedly and turned to Gosrick. His hand naturally covered his mouth.

“Is he not in his quarters?”

“The room is still locked, and there is no sign of presence.”

Lucian’s gaze scanned the watchtower again. It was essentially a pointless act.

If the King’s Mage had appeared, he should be by the King’s side. In the first place, in Izelant, where the exclusion of another race was severe, ‘the King’s Mage’ wasn’t even an official position. It was merely a place to stay under the King’s favor.

And for that very reason, the man’s long seclusion was suspicious. Especially at a time when the King’s health was deteriorating by the moment, leaving his side was….

“…….”

After thinking for a moment, Lucian approached the King and bowed.

“Your Majesty, where is Castor?”

When he whispered close to the King’s ear, the old King started again. He gasped and asked back.

“Castor?”

At the mention of the Mage’s name, his expression wavered. Lucian waited patiently. After a long while, the King answered hesitantly.

“Ah, Castor is my friend…. He is a ra-rarely wonderful Mage. As you know, such figures are uncommon among Mages….”

“…….”

A vein bulged in Lucian’s neck. He forced a smile again and nodded.

“Yes, that’s why I’m asking, as that wonderful friend of yours is nowhere to be seen. Since Brother Bastian is departing, wouldn’t it be good if he could cast a simple protection spell?”

“…I suppose so?”

The old King’s eyes, having lost their clarity, blinked slowly.

“Where did Castor really go?”

“Have the two of you met privately? When was the last time you saw him?”

“Uh… we were together on the Anspe Terra Plains.”

The battle of the Anspe Terra Plains—that was something that happened before the King even ascended the throne. Lucian clicked his tongue, straightened his back, and stepped away.

“I’m going to die of frustration first at this rate.”

“…They tried to break down the door to his quarters and enter, but it is said to be protected by mana.”

Gosrick added the news he had received with a somewhat uncomfortable expression. Lucian arched one eyebrow.

“The Tower Lord is the same as always?”

“Yes, that side as well, still. He says he refuses all personal meetings.”

Throughout the duration of the stay at Ostbrahe, the Tower Lord had refused all schedules except for the regular dinner banquets with the King.

The King spent the entire meal talking nonsense, the Tower Lord watched the spectacle while laughing as if it were amusing, and in between, Lucian kept a peaceful face while thinking he wanted to kill them both.

If he had to pick the most useless waste of time recently, it was that spot. They called it a meal, but no one actually put food in their mouth. Meanwhile, the inability to grasp the Tower Lord’s intentions only made his irritation rise.

“Then why on earth did he come? Honestly, these Mages….”

Lucian stopped speaking through gritted teeth and clapped again with a smile. The flag-bearers were moving into position. The national flag of Izelant, featuring a crown and three intertwined swords, and the flag of Lord Bastian of Aramor, featuring a bear, fluttered in a chaotic mix.

Lucian’s gaze flickered to the other side of the watchtower. He saw the Princess Consort standing like a doll with a prim expression as if nothing had happened, and beside her, her father, Sir Marthus, laughing heartily and clapping.

Following his lord’s gaze, Gosrick muttered.

“…On the surface, they still seem to be on good terms.”

“You can’t tell. Isn’t Marthus’s flag missing?”

Mylotte, who had been standing still, intervened and gestured with his chin toward the other side of the watchtower. Gosrick frowned.

“Isn’t that a bit excessive? The Olet Army is strictly the capital defense force.”

“Rather than actually adding troops, they’re just sending flag-bearers. Symbolically.”

Of course, one could see that as excessive as well, Mylotte added.

“Anyway, it’s a conquest approved by the King, and his daughter is even pregnant. I believe it was entirely possible. Rather, doesn’t that save Bastian’s face more?”

“Then what about the possibility that the Princess Consort’s pregnancy is a lie? Perhaps that Mage….”

“If you’re going to chatter, do it outside. You’re distracting me.”

Lucian cut off their conversation, turning his head irritably. To call it ‘chattering’ was an exaggeration, as they were communicating mostly through lip movements, but Gosrick and Mylotte bowed their heads and stepped back.

“…….”

However, that silence did not last long. Lucian, who had been looking down at the review ceremony beyond the watchtower with an expressionless face, soon turned toward Mylotte.

“…That guy?”

He didn’t seem aware of it himself, but this was already the third time he had repeated this question.

“The attendant who returned a moment ago says it is still quiet.”

And this answer was also being repeated identically for the third time. Because of this, two attendants were running back and forth between the West Wing office and the main tower until their feet were on fire.

Mylotte thought of ‘that guy’ who was locked in his lord’s office. That Mage who, for some reason, wore ridiculous clothes and handcuffs like a criminal, yet relentlessly drew people’s attention.

Even after he was first washed, Mylotte had thought he had a remarkably striking face, but seeing him again after his confinement, it had somehow worsened—whatever had happened in the meantime. It wasn’t appropriate to describe it with flat words like simply becoming more beautiful.

It was more like… being precariously at his peak. Like a flower just before blooming, or fruit just before harvest.

Of course, Mylotte had a fiancée in Callot and wasn’t so out of his mind as to be easily enchanted by a suspicious Mage…. But the fact that he could momentarily understand his lord’s action of abruptly throwing a cloak over him to hide him said it all.

He swallowed hard, gauged his lord’s mood, and asked tentatively.

“If it bothers you that much, shall I have someone peek in?”

However, Lucian reflexively frowned.

“Who, by sending whom?”

“…….”

“He’s wearing handcuffs right now; if something happens, will you take responsibility?”

“No, not at all.”

Mylotte quickly shook his head.

Regardless, it was a fact that the Mage’s physical abilities were worse than a slug’s. With his mana restricted, it would be troublesome if some crazed soldier were to be enchanted by that face and harbor vain desires.

He wondered if anyone would dare do such a thing to his lord’s Mage, but such accidents happened surprisingly often just when one had forgotten about them. Especially toward a partner in a relationship that wasn’t a formal marriage—so-called ‘favorites.’

Though he wasn’t sure if that Mage could actually be called a ‘favorite’….

In any case, it was no secret that his lord was currently sharing a bed with that Mage. In a court like this, secrets couldn’t exist in the first place. It was always better to be cautious where caution was needed.

…But if that’s the case, he shouldn’t act like he has a pathological jealousy. After all the fuss he made about bringing those Idelma Gold handcuffs.

It was as Mylotte sighed silently. Lucian muttered under his breath.

“…I wish there were a way to see where he is and what he’s doing.”

“Pardon?”

“Didn’t he say he knows where I am?”

Just as Mylotte doubted his ears at the barely audible monologue, Lucian shook his head as if shaking off stray thoughts and turned around. Below the watchtower, Bastian, mounted on his horse, was stepping forward.

“I’m going to see off that pig, so clean this up. You keep an eye on the King until the end.”

Lucian patted Gosrick’s shoulder and left the watchtower. The escort knights followed him in line, leaving Gosrick and Mylotte to exchange somewhat awkward glances.

The departure ceremony concludes with the royal family personally seeing off and blessing the departing commander. Usually, the successor designated as the next king takes this role, but in an unclear situation like this, the person with the most military experience among the royal direct line takes over.

Until now, when Lucian departed, the Eldest Daughter Arabella had taken this role. Their relationship wasn’t good, but since both had dry personalities in these matters, there had never been any great discomfort.

However, Bastian was….

Lucian struggled to erase the fatigue from his face as he leaped onto his horse. The knights following him also mounted their horses in unison. After one quick glance back, Lucian pulled the reins with one hand.

From the inner gate of Ostbrahe to the outer walls. It was a march across the city leading the cavalry.

The white horse Lucian rode passed through the city gate slowly. Simultaneously, a thunderous cheer erupted.

Such marches are a great source of entertainment for citizens living tedious lives. Especially departure ceremonies, as they allow one to see plenty of knights armed in shining plate armor.

Bastian was already outside the gate.

Bastian’s face crumpled at the cheers that rang out the moment Lucian appeared. Please, you idiot, there are many eyes watching, so at least manage your expression. Lucian swallowed his curses. Regardless, his expression remained serene.

Lucian’s well-trained white horse did not startle at the shouting and walked calmly to stand beside Bastian’s black horse. Their eyes met. In an instant, Bastian’s hand flew up.

Thwack.

He suddenly struck Lucian’s chest with his fist. It wasn’t a blow intended to kill, but it was by no means weak. After all, Bastian was a robust man, and if Lucian’s body hadn’t been trained, he might have fallen off his horse.