The Knight Commander's Sword
Bang!
The explosion that ripped through the air was far too loud to come from a simple clash of swords.
Then—something hit the ground and rolled across the dirt.
But it wasn't my iron sword.
Thung, tung—!
It was the Marquis's proud and noble Roaring Sword.
The blade lay on the ground, quivering faintly—as if groaning in disbelief.
"W–What the hell!"
"How is that possible?!"
The watching knights erupted in shock.
"Eh? Why did the Commander throw his sword? Are they switching to hand-to-hand combat now?"
Someone, clearly unable to comprehend the situation, blurted out nonsense.
But the Marquis himself understood—slowly, but with absolute clarity.
"..."
It had been only a single exchange.
Yet the sword had slipped right out of his grasp.
The impact—so precise and overwhelming—was unlike anything he had ever felt before.
What was that movement from the Prince's sword just now?
Could it be… that sword art?
The Eastern swordsmanship said to counter Trafalgar?
How could this fool possibly know that?
Elron Reut stared blankly at the Third Prince.
"Well then, I win, right?"
Prince Gilroshan smiled like a carefree child from the common streets.
But beneath that foolish grin, the Marquis saw something—
a quiet trace of resolve.
This was no accident.
It was deliberate—perfectly calculated.
He didn't know what had happened to the prince, but one thing was certain: something tremendous had changed.
And his intuition was right.
Yet the Third Prince just stood there, smiling innocently as if nothing had happened.
I pointed my blade toward the Marquis.
"Now, call off your knights and stand aside."
Marquis Reut looked utterly dumbfounded.
He even had the audacity to stare at me and ask:
"Your Highness… are you truly the Third Prince I once knew? Or have the necromancers of the Far Eastern Sea stolen your body? Perhaps the archmage Ellahorten decided to descend for a thousand-year game of amusement?"
"...Marquis, the duel isn't technically over yet. Can I behead you?"
"Hm."
Elron Reut thought for a moment—then nodded.
I blinked.
"Wait, seriously? You're saying I can?"
"Hahaha, of course not."
The Marquis picked up the Roaring Sword, sheathed it smoothly, and turned toward me.
Then—he dropped to one knee.
"...!"
The silence that followed hit like a thunderclap.
"The head of House Reut, Elron, acknowledges his defeat. It has been the greatest honor of my life to cross blades with, and learn from, His Highness, the Third Prince—the pillar of our Empire. My gratitude, truly."
The old knight's refined voice silenced everyone.
A pillar, huh.
A Swordmaster losing to a so-called "degenerate prince"?
Yeah, right. But damn, that still felt good.
[Unexpected Event 'Noble Duel' has ended.]
[You have defeated your opponent, Elron Reut.]
"What… what in the world!"
"The Commander lost?!"
The knights who had been watching cried out in disbelief.
None of them had ever seen their veteran commander lose his sword—not once.
But this was the outcome.
I had won, and he had lost.
"We must redo the match!"
"Commander! This can't be right!"
The Special Knight Order roared in protest, unable to accept that their revered leader had been defeated.
But the Marquis raised his voice—
and silence fell again.
"It was a fair duel. You all saw it, didn't you? I dropped my sword, and His Highness still held his."
According to the rules I'd set before the duel—
whoever loses their weapon first, loses the fight.
"Thus, His Highness is the victor, and the duel is over. There's nothing more to explain."
Then, he turned back toward me and smiled faintly.
"It seems the loser has spoken far too much."
Whoa.
That line was smooth.
And coming from a middle-aged man like Kals's dad—it actually sounded pretty cool.
"...Mmm."
Beside me, Tyrbaen trembled, clearly flustered by the handsome Swordmaster's calm authority.
Girl, you can't fall for both father and son. That's just messy.
Still, I couldn't help admiring the Marquis.
Didn't think he'd accept defeat this cleanly.
In terms of raw strength, the gap between us was still enormous.
The only reason I'd won was because he'd dropped his sword—
and Elron Reut was a man powerful enough to shatter my blade barehanded.
And yet, he was also a foolishly devoted father who dearly loved his wayward son.
For someone like that, accepting this loss must have been painful.
I was even planning to have Kals put him in his place if he started getting difficult.
But that was unnecessary.
After a brief moment of confusion, the Swordmaster regained his composure—
his expression calm, his gaze quiet and sharp as still water.
"Your Highness, as you wish. I will withdraw my knights and open the way."
The knights, who had earlier been agitated by his defeat, now stood silent and steady once more.
"Please go and bring the rebel envoys as you intended. I swear on my honor that your safety will be guaranteed. Also, ah, there is one more matter…"
What now?
Why the hesitation?
"For the sake of Your Highness's dignity, I shall arrange a place where you may tidy your appearance. You wouldn't mind, would you?"
"..."
Translation: Please, for the love of the Emperor, take a bath.
Was I really that filthy?
Then again, one look at Kals and Tyrbaen said it all.
They looked like complete beggars—and I was probably worse.
"Thank you."
"Think nothing of it."
Of course, by doing this, Marquis Reut was technically disobeying an imperial order.
He was supposed to capture the enemy, not escort them.
But he wouldn't be punished.
The Noble Duel Law of the Empire stated that
all outcomes following a duel were to be decided solely by the victor's will.
If anything, I'll be the one blamed later for insisting on going to Auralux with the rebels.
Still, I could leave with a clear conscience.
After all, this same Marquis—Kals's father—would one day become one of my strongest allies.
"But, Your Highness."
"...?"
"While they prepare the teleportation, may I, as your vassal, ask two questions?"
Two questions?
Oh no. That sounds ominous.
If he asked how I knew everything I shouldn't possibly know,
I had absolutely no good answer for him.
But this man was being polite—too polite to bark at.
"Go ahead. I'll answer as the magnanimous victor I am."
I tried poking at his pride, but Marquis Reut only smiled serenely.
Calm, unshakable—like a wall that not even a thousand stones could break.
Now that's a real Swordmaster.
"…Now he really looks like a Swordmaster."
"First, you should wash up. We'll also prepare a meal for you."
Tyrbaen vanished after saying she'd handle things herself using magic, but Kals and I decided to accept the knights' hospitality.
We used the facilities of the supply wagon that had accompanied the order to wash off the layers of grime clinging to us.
"Wow. Look at this black sludge. Feels like I'm washing a rag, not a human being."
As I poured hot water over my dusty, matted body, Kals suddenly spoke in a low voice.
"…Your Highness, forgive my impudence, but may I ask you something?"
"If it's impudent, then don't ask, idiot."
"It's about what you said to Marquis Reut just before the duel began."
"...!"
Oh, that.
The part where I provoked the Marquis by bringing up his son.
The bucket in my hand started trembling.
What the hell? How sharp is this guy?
This was not the kind of character he was supposed to be!
For a moment, I was completely thrown off—but quickly forced my expression into calm indifference.
"What? Why?"
Stay cool! Just act casual!
"What about what I said?"
"When I heard it, I was… rather confused. I couldn't help but wonder…"
Kals hesitated for a long moment—then asked, dead serious:
"Was it perhaps… some kind of secret about my birth?"
"…Huh?"
Oh no. Oh no no no.
"When you mentioned 'his son,' I thought… could it be that you were referring to the Marquis himself? That there was some hidden truth at the time of my birth?"
"Hey! Hey! You idiot!"
Panicking, I flung the entire bucket of water into his face.
"Wha—! Why did you pour that on me all of a sudden, Your Highness?!"
Kals stood there, drenched, blinking in disbelief.
Oh crap, what do I do now?
Sure, the truth would have to come out someday—but not like this!
Completely flustered, I waved my hands around defensively.
"You're overthinking it! It's nothing like that! Where are you even getting these weird ideas from?!"
"So… it's not true? Not at all?"
"Not at all! Absolutely not! Just stop thinking altogether, got it? Who told you to think, huh?!"
I was practically shouting at this point.
Then, to my surprise, Kals's tense expression softened.
"Phew… that's a relief."
"…A relief?"
"Of course! What a relief!"
What?
He actually looked relieved that the Marquis wasn't my father.
"What exactly were you thinking?"
Then Kals blurted out something completely unexpected.
"I thought maybe your true father was actually the Marquis, hahahaha!"
"…Excuse me?"
"You know, I realized it was an absurd thought, of course! But I couldn't help it—Your Highness seemed to know the Commander far too well!"
"Ah."
At last, I understood.
He wasn't suspicious of his own origins—he thought I was secretly the Marquis's illegitimate child!
The irony was almost painful.
He, the real son of Marquis Reut, was relieved that I wasn't.
But there was nothing I could do about it for now.
"Stop with the crazy imagination and just wash yourself."
"Yes, Your Highness."
When I poured warm water down his back, Kals smiled faintly.
If only he'd just stayed quiet after that…
"Um, Your Highness, if I may ask something else?"
Oh, come on. Again?
Was he auditioning for 'I Want to Know That' or something?
"How do you know the Commander so well, anyway? You're not his son, so…?"
He asked the question casually—but this one hit home hard.
"...Hmm."
I pressed my lips shut.
So he's not just sharp—he's hitting bullseyes now.
And he wasn't wrong.
I'd been thinking about that very issue myself.
The more I used my game knowledge, the more suspicious it would look.
No normal "Third Prince" should know these things.
So far, I'd managed to bluff Kals and Tyrbaen with half-truths, but that couldn't last forever.
At some point, we'd need genuine trust between us.
Which meant… I needed a cover story.
A way to use what I know freely—without raising suspicion.
"...Your Highness?"
When I looked at Kals, for a moment I saw Elron Reut's eyes in his face.
Yeah… there's a perfect excuse.
'Prophet Syndrome.'
That'll do nicely.
Meanwhile, the clergy were reactivating the teleportation gate.
They said it would take about an hour to pour in the mana and recalibrate the coordinates to transport such a large group.
During that time, Bamilo and Igral approached me.
"Third Prince, did you truly succeed?"
"Are you seriously telling me you defeated Elron Reut, the 9-Star Swordmaster?"
I smirked.
"Come on, you two really are too gullible. If I'd lost, do you think you'd still be breathing right now? Look around—see the Imperial knights over there? Open your eyes, old man! And you—take that hood off already! You look like a child of darkness!"
"Ha… ha ha…"
"..."
The High Priest forced a strained laugh, while Igral just stood there speechless.
The fact that the Empire's Special Knight Order and the Revolutionary Army's Vengeance Clergy were standing together without killing each other was proof enough.
"Man, I'm amazing even by my own standards. How did I even pull that off?"
"…If only I'd seen it with my own eyes."
While I basked in my own glory and Igral sighed,
"Your Highness! It does my heart good to see you looking so refreshed!"
Marquis Reut approached with his knights in tow, smiling warmly at my now-clean appearance.
Gulp.
I felt Bamilo and Igral stiffen beside me.
Of course they did—
Elron Reut was one of the Empire's most dangerous foes to the Revolution.
Yet the Marquis calmly came to stand at my side.
"Hm."
He glanced at the priests' tense expressions and, in a surprisingly playful tone for a man his age, chuckled.
"Would it not be appropriate to introduce ourselves, Your Highness?"
"…I'm sorry, what?"
"Introduce ourselves. These fine gentlemen and us."
"You mean… both sides?"
"Yes."
Why though?
This wasn't a double date.
"I merely think it's proper etiquette, from a retainer's standpoint."
Apparently, my confusion showed, because he added simply:
"After all, I am entrusting what is essentially my son—the Empire's future—to these men. Shouldn't I at least know who's taking responsibility for him?"
"..."
Wow. That was sharp.
And also—
Ouch.
He really said that like he meant it.