The Knight Commander's Sword
At the heart of a forest clearing—
"...How frustrating."
A blond, middle-aged man sat on a tree stump as if it were a chair.
"They're taking too long."
When he spoke and sighed, the air itself seemed to tremble in fear.
Elron Reut.
A 9-Star Knight.
One of the Empire's famed Three Swords.
A swordmaster who had abandoned the comfortable life of the capital, Kerthion, to become the guardian of the frontier.
"Lieutenant, this is taking far longer than expected. No results from the search?"
At the Marquis's cold voice, his lieutenant lowered his eyes and answered.
"Yes, Commander. We've found traces of their flight, but they're skilled at disruption. It's unlikely we'll catch them by tracking."
"Tch."
The Marquis clicked his tongue. The lieutenant clamped his mouth shut.
He knew well that the commander was in a foul mood.
The reason was obvious.
"Gilroshan..."
He dared to utter the prince's name aloud, his gaze glinting with a chill.
Marquis Loyt despised the Third Prince Gilroshan.
The reason was simple.
'My beloved youngest son, Kals...'
Because the prince's personal knight—was his own son.
Kals Sillion was the illegitimate child of Elron Reut and a maidservant.
By Imperial law, the boy should have become a slave.
The Marquis had barely managed to launder his status and entrusted him to the Sillion family to be raised as a noble's son.
And then...
'Why in the world did it have to be Gilroshan?'
Not the Crown Prince.
Not the Second Prince.
The delinquent Third Prince!
For a father, it was heartbreaking.
A knight's path mirrors that of his lord.
If the Third Prince ascended to the throne, Kals might become captain of the Royal Guard—but that was an impossible dream.
'I'd settle for the prince just acting like a decent human being.'
Yet after leaving the Young Palace, Gilroshan had thrown away all study and training.
Daytime—drinking parties in the palace.
Nighttime—gambling dens outside the palace.
And by dawn—who knew where he'd passed out, reeking of liquor and sin?
So the Marquis had begun to entertain dangerous thoughts.
'If this prince is eliminated... Kals could be reassigned to the knight order. Yes... that would be for the best.'
When he first heard reports of an assassination attempt on the Third Prince, he was shocked.
He couldn't help worrying his son might have been caught up in it.
But when he learned that Kals had survived—and was now pursuing the assassins—he thought:
'That's my boy.'
He was deeply proud.
And secretly, he felt relief.
If the Third Prince were to vanish, Kals would finally be free.
'He'll bear the shame of failing to protect his master, yes—but thinking of his future, that's still far better.'
Surely nothing could be worse than rotting away beside that swine of a prince.
Thus the Knight Commander's orders were merciless.
"Lieutenant. Even if the enemy is holding hostages, it doesn't matter. Kill them all. Understood?"
"Yes, Commander."
And so the Special Knight Order would not care one bit about the Third Prince's safety.
Their only focus—slaughter every intruder.
'No matter whose blood stains the ground in the process.'
The Marquis's sharp smile curved as—
Piiiiiiiii—!
A piercing whistle shrieked in the distance.
The signal that the enemy had been sighted.
'At last!'
Marquis Loyt rose to his feet.
The Emperor had commanded that rebels be captured alive if possible.
'I have no intention of doing that.'
He would kill them all.
Drown the forest in blood.
But the next moment, the Marquis faltered and stopped.
"W-what? They're coming in!"
"B-block them! Stop them with your hands if you must!"
What's this? No fighting?
Strange shouting echoed from beyond the brush.
"I am Second-Rank Knight of the Imperial Order, Kals Sillion! Make way!"
"Move your swords, you ugly bastards!"
"Hey! You can't even recognize a prince's face? Your discipline's trash! Or are you pretending not to know?"
Crash!
With clattering and shouting, a group of bizarre, filthy creatures burst out of the bushes.
The Marquis stared blankly at them.
They were... human, apparently?
'Are there beggars even in the mountains?'
No, they looked worse than beggars from the city slums—
filthy, covered head-to-toe in dirt, barely recognizable as people.
How in the world had such rabble passed through his knights?
Just as he was about to order their removal, he froze.
"Your Highness, it's Commander Loyt!"
"Hm? The Marquis?"
"Right, we finally made it."
They were talking to him—talking familiarly.
"...Impossible."
Among them, he spotted one vaguely familiar face.
"Kals? Is that you?"
The beggar grinned, showing white teeth.
"It's been a while, Commander. Kals Sillion, eldest son of House Sillion."
So that meant...
"I am Tyrbaen Sui of the Royal Research Institute. Though I doubt you remember me, Marquis."
The wrinkled-faced beggar bowed politely.
She was the prince's magic tutor.
Finally, the Marquis turned to the third beggar—and froze.
"..."
Just like the others, his face was filthy beyond recognition.
But his eyes—those sharp, chilling eyes—radiated an icy presence.
Marquis Loyt hated that feeling.
That blade-like aura only the Imperial bloodline possessed.
But had the Third Prince always been like this?
'Doesn't matter anyway.'
The Marquis bowed deeply to the third beggar.
"Elron of House Loyt, Marquis and Knight Commander, greets the Third Prince, Your Highness."
This was no beggar—
this was the Third Prince.
The disgrace of a great lineage.
The delinquent of the Imperial bloodline.
"It's a relief to see Your Highness unharmed. Surely Ella-Horten herself must have aided you."
He couldn't very well tell him to go die right to his face, so he offered some polite, meaningless words.
But something felt... off.
"The guardian dragon didn't help—but since I'm alive, let's just call it good fortune."
...What?
That tone—something was off.
The Third Prince seemed... different somehow.
'Maybe the near-death experience changed him?'
Anyway, after a week of chaos, they had finally found the Third Prince.
It would've been nice to deal with the rebel assassins at the same time, but opportunities always come again.
The Marquis smiled softly.
"Now then, let us return to the palace. The Special Knight Order will escort you."
It was the natural thing to do—
the prince returning to the capital, under the guard of imperial knights.
But the Third Prince scratched his cheek and said something unexpected.
"I feel a bit bad for raining on the mood, but I'm not going. Marquis."
"...Pardon?"
"I said, I'm not going back to the Imperial Palace."
Gilroshan, his face still streaked with grime, declared it firmly.
"Your Highness, what are you saying...?"
"Withdraw the knights surrounding the area. I'm going to Auralx with the revolutionaries."
The Marquis frowned deeply.
'What in blazes is he talking about?'
Why would an Imperial Prince go to a city held by the revolutionaries?
From start to finish, it was sheer lunacy.
But that wasn't all.
"And if you try to stop me, Marquis—"
...If he tried to stop him?
What then?
Shing.
The Third Prince drew his sword with a gravity that didn't suit him.
"Then I'll cut you down myself. This is both an Imperial command and a warning."
"...Heh."
Insane. Utterly insane.
'No doubt about it. He's lost his mind.'
Marquis Elron Reut could only let out a hollow laugh.
'He must be dumbfounded.'
I knew that much.
He was a Swordmaster. Watching me draw a blade and issue some grand threat probably seemed beyond ridiculous—maybe even adorable.
I knew.
I knew it all.
But I still didn't back down.
From the moment I realized Elron Reut was guarding this path, I'd been thinking.
And I kept thinking.
This was a game world.
And in any game, no matter how impossible a stage looked, there was always a hidden route through.
That's what was.
So I decided to use every advantage my system granted me.
After explaining the situation to the Vengeance Priesthood, I began my own little operation.
That's how Kals and Tyrbaen ended up looking like beggars.
Myself included.
Couldn't be helped, right?
'If a level 0 wants to surpass a master, this much is nothing.'
But the Marquis didn't know any of that.
"Your Highness, this joke has gone far enough."
He sneered openly.
"With all due respect, I am a Swordmaster. You may not understand, but there are only three knights in the entire Empire who have attained the 9-Star realm. And I am one of them."
'I know that!'
The three superhumans who had reached the pinnacle of swordsmanship—
'The Empire's Spear, Duke Shedric Fen.'
'The Empire's Shield, Marquis Fox Buares.'
'The Empire's Dagger, Marquis Elron Reut'
In pure swordsmanship, Elron Reut was considered the best among them.
He might fall behind in magic-imbued combat, but give him a single sword—
'And he's the Empire's strongest blade, no question.'
His eyes gleamed with amusement.
"And pray tell, Your Highness, how do you intend to 'cut me down'? I find myself rather curious."
His aura began to swell, the pressure mounting. I clenched my jaw.
"A cut is a cut. You swing the sword, it hits, it bleeds. What other method do I need?"
"Well, yes... but honestly, I could beat Your Highness senseless with nothing but a cane."
"Sure, I'll admit that. You could probably beat me even if you charged with a stick under your armpit."
"Haha, horrifying yet accurate. But why bring that up?"
I smirked coldly.
Because I know your secret, Marquis.
"Tell me, Marquis Loyt—are you still confident you could do that today?"
"...What?"
The smug expression vanished from his face.
Then came the chilling pressure—his fighting aura.
A true warrior's killing intent.
When he shifted his stance slightly, he looked like a completely different man.
"Your Highness, I don't know what you think you know. But I am Elron Reut. That will never change."
It was the confidence of a man who had reached the summit of swordsmanship.
'You still won't draw your sword first, huh?'
But I had one last card to play.
"Let's be honest, Marquis."
My tone abruptly shortened; his expression turned strange.
But I kept talking.
"I know exactly what you stand to gain if I die here."
"Your Highness, what nonsense—"
"You pathetic Swordmaster. Worrying too much about your son doesn't suit you. You should've let him go when you had the chance."
I'd brought Kals into it.
"...You insolent brat!"
That did it. Loyt roared and drew his greatsword.
Kwaoooooom!
The Howling Blade in his hand truly roared like a beast.
But I only grew calmer.
"Don't get me wrong, Marquis. I'm sorry it has to be this way. But a father must learn to respect his son's choices, mustn't he?"
His killing intent was close enough to slice my throat—yet my voice only grew sharper.
His face, twisted with fury and disbelief, was almost entertaining.
"If this was meant to provoke me, Your Highness, then congratulations. It worked perfectly."
Elron Reut struggled not to glance toward Kals.
I grinned and flung my glove at his feet.
The meaning was clear.
"Well then, you've been insulted and you've drawn your sword. That means we must duel, doesn't it?"
The Marquis barked a bitter laugh.
A 9-Star Knight dueling the delinquent Third Prince—unbelievable.
But the stage was set.
And as a man who'd spent his life in pursuit of the sword, Elron Reut solemnly raised his blade.
"Elron of House Loyt challenges the third son of House Valt, Prince Gilroshan, to a duel!
By Imperial law, you must answer the noble duel!"
"Gilroshan Valt accepts. Now, what shall be the terms?"
By law, the rules were to be set before the duel began—
and had those rules systemized.
"As Your Highness wishes."
His tone carried not a hint of doubt.
As one of the Empire's Three Swords—
as a 9-Star Knight—
as a Swordmaster—
'He thinks there's no way he can lose to me.'
I smiled faintly.
"Very well. Then here are my conditions."
I set the rules—
[Sudden Event: 'Noble Duel' has begun!]
[Defeat your opponent, Elron Reut, and claim victory!]
The system message flashed before my eyes.
'Defeat a Swordmaster and win.'
An impossible objective—at least, for anyone else.
But I had no doubt I'd succeed.
Because I wasn't just some runaway prince of the Magic Empire.
I was a runaway prince with the soul of a hardcore gamer.