Chapter 23 – I Stand in the Wilderness (2)

Even within the Academy, students, especially those of high nobility or royalty, had access to private spaces. For someone like the prince, securing a personal room comparable in size to a classroom was a trivial matter.

Within such a luxuriously appointed space, a red-haired boy paced, his face flushed with anger, venting his frustrations to the empty air. He abruptly turned his burning gaze towards a girl and demanded, “Seras, answer me. What is the meaning of this? Why are we still waiting?”

He stalked towards her, his body trembling with barely suppressed rage. Prince Alessius. Of noble blood, blessed with the golden lineage of the imperial family. The current Hero Emperor was not only the ruler of the Berke Empire but also the head of the Enjul family.

Yet, just two generations prior, the Enjul family’s hold on power had been precarious. Internal strife and discord among blood relatives had led to disharmony and a series of civil wars, both large and small. The authority of the imperial family teetered on the brink of collapse.

It was the current Hero Emperor who had stabilized the power structure. However, he had one notable flaw: aside from Empress Melineos, the mage empress, he refused to take any other consorts. The Church lauded this as a testament to his piety and devotion to his marital vows, but it resulted in only two heirs: Princess Elhermina and Prince Alessius.

While seemingly insignificant to the uninformed, this lack of heirs posed a constant threat of a power vacuum. Despite this, the imperial family was praised as being blessed by the gods through the Church because both the princess and the prince possessed exceptional talents.

However, a closer examination revealed a significant disparity in their abilities and potential.

Seras, her eyes fixed on the prince’s handsome yet agitated features, met his intense gaze with a calm demeanor. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“Don’t play coy with me! It’s infuriating!”

“Your Highness,” Seras said, her tone serious. “The moment Her Highness expressed her desire for the engagement and her intention to keep Cariel by her side, our plans were rendered moot. Accept it.”

“Just because my sister wills it, does that mean I have to accept it?! Me?! Alessius?!”

“It was a decision made through His Majesty’s own words. Unless Cariel dies, it cannot be undone.”

“…”

Despite her calm words, Alessius could sense Seras’s own frustration. He knew his outburst was misplaced, a product of the anger boiling within him.

“…Damn it all.”

“Have you calmed down?” Seras asked.

Alessius waved a dismissive hand. “My apologies. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“…Is this the first time?”

“Just let it go… Sigh. Forget it.”

Despite his fiery temper, he was quick to regain his composure. He didn’t hold grudges, and his honesty made it easy to respect him as a leader. However, his easygoing nature sometimes undermined the authority expected of a ruler. A leader, after all, needed decisiveness and the courage to forge ahead.

In that respect, while Alessius was still impulsive and somewhat unrefined, he possessed the potential to grow into the role. The problem was that while he was still young, his sister, not much older than him, was already on the path to becoming an ideal monarch. As a ruler, she might be flawless, but she lacked warmth, a human touch. Even in moments of anger or joy, her expression remained impassive.

Seras preferred Alessius’s more expressive nature. Not that his outbursts were reckless or indiscriminate. His displays of emotion were usually directed at either an enemy or an ally. If an enemy, he showed no restraint. If an ally, they were someone he intended to support unwaveringly.

“If the warning was directed at you, it’s as good as a warning to me, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I suppose so.” The message was clear: ‘Cease your petty schemes. Now that I’ve taken him under my wing, I won’t tolerate any further interference.’

“It’s undeniably a clever political maneuver,” Alessius conceded.

“I know! I know!” It was a strategic move by the Emperor to secure the imperial bloodline before relinquishing the throne. Given his long lifespan, it was possible that the succession would fall to either Elhermina or Alessius much later than anticipated. Furthermore, the alliance between Luelde and the Hero Emperor, reinforced by the Saintess and the Church, would remain unbreakable.

“Who knows, perhaps you and I will be forced to join forces someday,” Alessius mused.

“Don’t hold your breath.”

“Of course. I always keep my promises.”

Seras sighed. “…Eras is still striving to become someone worthy of Your Highness.”

“……” Despite the complexities of their relationship, their bond was undeniable, unbreakable.

“I should pay him a visit.”

Just as Alessius was finally calming down, the door burst open.

“Your Highness.”

“What is it?”

A boy approached, whispering in his ear.

“What?! That’s preposterous!” Alessius exclaimed.

“What’s going on?” Seras asked.

The boy glanced at Alessius, seeking permission to speak.

“Don’t look at me like that! There’s no need for secrecy. Just tell her.”

“Right. Well…” Being in the prince’s inner circle meant being accustomed to his volatile temper. The boy turned to Seras. “There’s a rumor going around that Instructor Lambert was… humiliated by Cariel during training.”

“…Is that even possible?” Seras crossed her arms, her expression a mix of disbelief and intrigue.

“What are the eyewitnesses saying?”

“…They said it wasn’t traditional swordsmanship, but more like… trickery. Some even suggested sorcery.”

“Sorcery?” Alessius scoffed.

“Are you saying an Imperial swordsmanship instructor, a seasoned veteran, was defeated by some backwater hick who constantly gets beaten to a pulp?”

“…He’s not exactly a ‘hick,’ Your Highness.”

“He looks the part! That’s what matters!” Alessius snapped, clicking his tongue impatiently. He gestured for the boy to continue.

“They said he used a sword, but his stances and movements were… unorthodox. He basically just charged in, and his opponents were so confused they ended up dropping their swords.”

“What in the world…? Where would he learn something like that? Wait… Don’t tell me it was Sir Luelde…?”

“That’s what many are speculating. They’re wondering if he learned some new technique from him.”

“I’ll have to see it for myself to believe it,” Alessius declared. After all, he himself had trained under Luelde. While he had many instructors, none were as influential as the Hero. Though Luelde never showed favoritism or offered special treatment, his occasional pointers and advice were invaluable to the perceptive prince.

“….” It galled him that the son of his esteemed mentor was treated with such disdain. Initially, he hadn’t meant to ostracize Cariel. But the more he observed the boy, the more his indifference and seeming lack of effort grated on him.

It’s his apathy that’s so infuriating. Cariel had everything handed to him on a silver platter; why act like he had nothing?

At least Luelde wasn’t as harsh or demanding as his own father, the Emperor, whose punishments were notoriously brutal—skin flayed, muscles torn, not even a whimper of pain allowed. Even Elhermina, the epitome of perfection, endured her share of these trials. Alessius himself was no stranger to his father’s ruthless discipline.

And now this… this pathetic excuse for a knight is trying to steal my sister?

How could he possibly tolerate it? Even if Cariel somehow managed to become worthy of Elhermina, it would still be a bitter pill to swallow. But a washed-up failure like him? Unthinkable.

“Should I investigate further, Your Highness? Or would you prefer to confirm it yourself?” Seras asked.

“…” Alessius’s anger subsided slightly. “Seras, what do you think I should do?”

“You lose your composure whenever Cariel is involved. It would be best if I went first.”

“…That’s a valid point.” But…

“It’s not a good enough reason for me to stay away.” Whether Cariel had genuinely improved or was merely hiding his strength…

“I will see for myself.” If the incompetent boy had truly become skilled, he, as a prince, should embrace the change, for the sake of his people.

“…” But if it was all a charade, a deception orchestrated to improve his image before the engagement… If Cariel was spreading rumors to mask his inadequacy…

“Hmph.” Then he, Alessius, would personally tear down that facade. It was an act of mercy, a preemptive strike to protect the reputation of the imperial family.

====

–There’s such a thing as a sword of the heart.– A blade that strikes without warning, cleaving the soul, rending the spirit.

–Those afflicted find themselves helpless, unable to defend against such an unseen attack. But if ignorance and weakness are sins, then they are sins to be borne.–

Patience has its limits. Endurance is finite.

–Even tolerance has a breaking point. When you expend mental energy on thought and contemplation, why do you assume it won’t take its toll?– Enduring physical pain, withstanding emotional torment, it all draws from the same wellspring of strength.

–Your heart grew sick, the sickness spreading through your body, because you were constantly battered and bruised by these unseen weapons.–

“…” And yet, you endured.

–As absurd as it may sound, your survival has expanded your capacity for resilience.–

“Is that… a good thing?”

–It’s a double-edged sword.– You can withstand more, but…

–Your tolerance has diminished. Why? Your reserves of strength have grown, yet you find it harder to bear the burden. Why is that?–

Cariel, after a moment of silence, replied with a newfound certainty, “Because… the pain has intensified?”

–Close enough.– Your wounds remain unhealed. They fester, unattended.

–You poked and prodded them, twisted the knife deeper, poured filth and salt and boiling water into the raw flesh. There could be no healing, no recovery.–

–Without respite, you were constantly battered and bruised. That is why today hurts more than yesterday. Why you agonize over future wounds, dreading what has yet to come.–

“…” That is why you couldn’t sleep. Why you welcomed the moon and cursed the sun.

–Every sunrise brought fresh torment, a reminder of the pain to come.– You gave thanks for the setting sun, resented its return.

“…”

Cariel sat silently in the library, gazing out the window. He watched cautiously, his eyes darting between the lower entrance and the far doorway. But his vigilance was different now.

He closed his eyes.

Faintly, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. It could be a hallucination, a phantom born of his fear and anxiety. Yet, these phantom sounds, while sometimes misleading, often proved to be accurate. For a moment, he was gripped by a sense of foreboding.

Step. Step. Step. The uncertain line between imagination and reality solidified. The echoes in his mind faded, replaced by the distinct sound of footsteps drawing closer.

“…”

He opened his eyes.

There they stood. The prince and his entourage. They stared at him, their expressions sharp, as if they had just discovered his presence.

Like a hunted rabbit, its hind leg snared, cowering in its burrow, Cariel had endured as best he could.

And now, half by choice, half by circumstance, he faced his predators.