Chapter Three: The Pocket Watch, the Count, and the Marionette

“Urm...”

With a muffled groan, Herscherik tossed in his sheets that were made from the best materials in this world. After that disaster of a party, he’d been brought back to his room by his father before taking a bath. Meria consoled him, even though she seemed more upset about it than he was, before he changed into his pajamas and crawled into bed. Normally, he would have flown off into dreamland in a matter of minutes, but from how wide awake he was tonight, that land of dreams seemed impossibly distant. When Herscherik stirred again, he spotted the antique silver pocket watch on the nightstand.

23

It was the same object that had happened to tumble right to his feet when Ruseria was arrested under the charge of treason. At the time, Herscherik’s eyes were drawn to it like a magnet, and before he knew it, the watch was in his hand. Now, the silver dully reflected the moonlight that had snuck into the room through the gap in the curtains. He had brought it all the way back to his room without anyone stopping him. Well, no one had noticed him carrying it amidst the commotion, at least.

Herscherik crawled out of bed and took the watch. It opened with the press of a button, revealing the watch face. Just as he had assumed from his life so far, days in this world seemed to be divided into 24 hours, too. While they differed from those of the old world, twelve numbers did occupy the watch face in their familiar positions. Judging by the hands on the watch, he discerned that the time was just past ten o’clock at night.

...Why did father look so sad when Count Ruseria was declared a traitor?

His father’s sorrowful expression was burned into Herscherik’s memory. In that situation, any king would certainly have been angry over the count’s betrayal. While his kindhearted father might have been saddened by it, his expression was more dejected than anything else.

Besides, the count didn’t look like a bad person...

To Herscherik, Ruseria looked like he was sincerely concerned for his country and, at the same time, like he had been backed into a corner.

Something’s not right about this.

That hunch he had at the scene of the arrest had been keeping Herscherik awake. It made him more nervous with time and had culminated in a sense of growing urgency. Desperately trying to uncover the meaning of his instinctive suspicion, Herscherik pored over every aspect of the incident. The paper Ruseria had produced, his father’s astonishment, Barbosse’s sealed letter... the contrast between Barbosse’s confidence and Ruseria’s hopeless expression. In order to recall every last detail, even the ones that he didn’t find important at the time, Herscherik replayed the scene over and over again in his mind.

...Oh!

As soon as the revelation hit him after several mental replays, his sense of urgency dissipated. The pocket watch fell from his hand, which he’d relaxed without realizing, but he couldn’t be bothered by it.

The evidence the minister presented doesn’t match the count’s reaction.

The minister’s evidence was definitive. But, would someone trying to seek refuge in a foreign nation take the risk of presenting false evidence to the king just to frame someone else? If Herscherik had been in the count’s shoes, he would have made a run for it as soon as he could. It would have been easier and less risky than trying to frame another man for the crime. What kind of burglar would walk into a police station, evidence in hand? Come to think of it, some parts of the minister’s reaction didn’t make sense, either. How was he able to determine that the count’s evidence was falsified without even looking at it and supposedly not knowing the contents?

...Did he already know what was on that paper?

Once Herscherik noticed this discrepancy, he couldn’t stop noticing all the suspicious moments during the encounter. Most of all, he couldn’t get Barbosse’s final expression out of his mind. It rubbed him the wrong way that the marquis looked like some kind of TV villain mocking the protagonist.

...He was one step ahead.

Ruseria’s final whisper haunted his mind. Herscherik climbed out of his bed and picked up the watch from the floor. Perhaps from the shock of the fall, it had opened. Seeing its contents, Herscherik’s eyes widened in surprise. The watch face was no longer visible, but a small portrait could be seen in its place. Herscherik thoroughly inspected the watch to find that it had two layers. Pressing the button lightly opened it to show the watch face, and holding down the button while opening the lid revealed the portrait. The painting depicted a youthful and healthy-looking Ruseria with a woman that appeared to be his wife holding a baby in her arms. All three were smiling happily.

The count will be executed, surely...

He recalled a conversation between two nobles that he had overheard on his way back to his room.

He must be locked up in a cell by now. Should have kept his mouth shut.

Herscherik closed the watch and returned it to the nightstand before crawling back into bed.

I doubt I could see the count. Not right now.

It was easy to imagine that he was currently being interrogated.

Tomorrow, I’ll wake up early and go see him.

For some reason, Herscherik felt like he absolutely had to see the count. Even though he didn’t feel like he could sleep at all, he still closed his eyes to make an attempt.

Two years had passed since Herscherik had regained his adult consciousness after being reborn in this world. His royal life so far had been one of inconceivable luxury compared to his previous life. Food was brought to his table without having to lift a finger, and all of his clothes were made-to-order from the highest quality materials. Even though his mother had passed away, his nanny Meria was kind to him and his father was a gentle and handsome king. He’d thought his world would always be just as dream-like, and he’d continue to be fed everything in his life with a silver spoon... It was as if he had won the lottery.

The world around him, as he was beginning to realize, wasn’t quite the sweet dream he thought it was. Come to think of it, there had been plenty of indications before this that the world around him was not quite as perfect as it seemed. Still, he had pretended not to notice. He feared that if he were to accept those things, he would entirely move on from his previous life and forget everything about it. Maybe he had been drowning himself in the surface-level bliss of this world in order to deny the reality that Ryoko was dead and she could never see her family again.

For the first time, Herscherik faced the emotions he had been turning his back on. Righteous curiosity struggled viciously with the fear of facing his reality within his mind.

In the pre-dawn darkness of four in the morning, Herscherik got out of bed and quickly changed his clothes as quietly as possible. As the season was only on the cusp of spring, the air felt a little chilly, so he decided to put on a coat before opening the door. He peeked his head out into the hall to make sure no one was there before sprinting down it.

Good thing I had Meria show me a map of the castle.

Usually, Herscherik was accompanied by Meria whenever he left his room. They never left the royal quarters or the courtyard, but whenever Herscherik had asked, Meria had opened a map and patiently explained how to get to each part of the castle from where they were.

In general, the castle was comprised of four areas. The royal quarters to the north, political facilities to the south, research labs to the east, and military housing to the west. While Herscherik wasn’t sure of all the various subsections within them, right now he only had to know how to make it to the western area where the prison cells were.

He made it through the unoccupied hallway to exit into the courtyard, which was accessible to anyone who lived in the royal quarters. During the day, the royal wives engaged in blossoming conversations as they admired the flowers, but during the pre-dawn hours, the courtyard was completely empty. Herscherik walked through a passageway adjacent to the courtyard, passed under the gate into the main castle, and turned west. Down that path, he could see his destination.

Dodging soldiers on night patrol along the way, Herscherik managed to arrive at the western quarters. Then, walking through the passageway that connected the main castle with the military facilities, Herscherik came to the training grounds. During the day, it was bustling with soldiers and knights, but now it stood empty in the middle of the other military facilities. On any other day, Herscherik would have been excited about his first venture beyond the royal quarters, but he didn’t have the time for that now.

The cells are on the very western end of the western area...

Recalling the map of the castle from memory, Herscherik carried on. He hid behind a few corners here and there to make it past the soldiers on patrol before finally arriving at the other end of the military facilities. The land between the building and the castle wall was unkempt, weeds growing free and tall amidst the planted trees. Fortunately for Herscherik, the grass was tall enough that he could conceal his toddler body just by diving down to the ground. On the walls of the building, he could see openings just above the grass—barred windows, albeit with no glass between the bars. These windows, definitely made as small as they were to prevent the prisoners inside from escaping, served as the light sources for the cells that were dug halfway into the ground.

I hope the count is here...

Clutching the silver pocket watch in his hand like a talisman, Herscherik approached a window.

“Count Ruseria, are you in there?” He called in a whisper to avoid being detected, but there was no answer.

He repeated the question at window after window to only hear silence in return.

The next one is the last cell...

“Count Ruseria, please answer me if you’re here.”

Herscherik knew that if the count wasn’t in this cell, he would have no chance of finding him. As he squeezed the watch even harder, Herscherik’s call came out sounding more like a prayer.

“Who is it?”

That voice was none other than that of the man with the mustard-colored hair that he had heard at the party. Herscherik nearly cried out in joy at the voice that came from within the cell, but he hurriedly covered his mouth with his hands. All of his hard work would be for naught if he raised his voice now. Herscherik crawled toward the window carefully and peered through the bars. Inside, he found Ruseria, without his jacket. Ruseria’s eyes, gazing up at the barred window, met Herscherik’s eyes peeking down from above. Seeing the unexpected figure, Ruseria’s eyes widened in shock. Unbothered by the reaction, Herscherik observed the count and noticed that his clothes were badly stained and torn. What drew his attention the most, though, was the count’s forehead, which must have been injured during the arrest and barely tended to. It was still stained by the streaks of blood.

“Is your forehead all right?”

Herscherik’s biggest concern came pouring out of his lips. Of course it wasn’t all right. He immediately regretted the question. A noble—a count—had been subjected to violence and imprisonment in a place like this. Stretching his hand through the bars toward the count, Herscherik presented the watch he’d been holding onto, as the count still seemed frozen in surprise. After all, Herscherik had set out in order to return the watch to him in the first place.

“I came to return this. It’s something precious to you, isn’t it?”

“...Yes, it’s very precious.”

“I’m glad I could get it to you.”

Taking the watch from Herscherik, Count Ruseria stroked it with nostalgia in his eyes. Then, he held the watch tightly with his eyes closed, and a bitter pain flashed across his expression. Just as Herscherik was about to ask him about it, the count looked up at the prince again. His intense stare halted Herscherik’s question on the tip of his tongue. In turn, the count knelt to one knee and bowed his head. Later on, Herscherik would learn that this count had saluted him with a pledge of loyalty.

“Lord Herscherik, I beg your forgiveness for ruining your celebration last night.”

Herscherik shook his head. “That doesn’t matter. But Count Ruseria, I want to hear your side of the story.”

“...My side?”

The count looked up from his bow and absentmindedly parroted the phrase in a somewhat taken-aback tone.

“I’m the traitor who was arrested for trying to frame Minister Barbosse. I’m here, after all. What other story do you need? That’s reality.”

Ruseria’s sarcastic and mocking tone wasn’t directed at Herscherik, but at himself. Hearing this, Herscherik knew he had to respond.

“I came because I want to hear what you have to say in your own words, Count. No matter what anyone else says, I want to hear from you.”

Reality was always singular, a manifestation of the events that actually took place. Truth, on the other hand, was as numerous and varied as there were people in this world. Truth could take different forms depending on each person’s thoughts and relationship to an event, changing the shape of their truths. Herscherik did not want to become the kind of person that simply took what one person said as the one and only truth. He had requested this of the count without looking away from him... Herscherik’s mature syntax and unclouded eyes made the count hold his breath for a moment.

Has anyone spoken to me this way in the past few years...? Ruseria thought. No. For several years, the count had never heard someone speak to him like that. If someone ever had, the count had paid it no mind, deeming it superfluous noise. The words the prince had just uttered, though, sunk deep into his heart like a drop of water in dry soil. So, Ruseria followed Herscherik’s request.

“...I fell into their trap.”

After a few moments, Ruseria began speaking with gravitas.

It had all begun three years prior when the count took notice of a particular noble’s illegal activities. When he discovered that a viscount was behind it all, Ruseria notified Legal Affairs with his discovery. It would not have been unreasonable for the viscount to be stripped of his title, but he remained unpunished. Suspicious of this, Ruseria investigated the wrongdoings on his own in pursuit of justice. In the end, he’d discovered that Minister Barbosse’s political group sponsored those activities and had all gotten rich in the process.

“If I didn’t take action now, our nation would be starved, then destroyed... That’s what I thought.”

Just to enrich the nobility, taxes would be raised. Impoverished citizens who couldn’t pay the tax would end up on the streets, then turn to crime and make the country more dangerous. To combat crime, taxes would be raised again. This negative spiral was sure to weaken the country.

“I had gathered some compatriots... When we were right on the verge of reforming our political scene, I lost my wife and son to an accident... My son had just turned three, Your Highness, like you.”

As the count was in mourning over what he thought to be an accident, an unsigned letter was delivered, warning him not to investigate any closer.

“I have no proof. But I know they killed my son and wife. Made it look like an accident. Just to make an example of them to me and my compatriots. Then, misfortune befell one associate of mine after another, until we could no longer remain united.”

Still, Ruseria could not give it up, overcome with the need for vengeance for his beloved family. Without it, in fact, he was sure that he would not have had the will to survive until now.

Ruseria held his pocket watch tighter as he continued.

“I was resolved to fight, all alone. Over the past three years, I collected as much evidence as I could and presented it to His Majesty... Well, you saw what happened.”

The unfamiliar letter must have been forged, seal and all. By close inspection of a sample of Ruseria’s genuine letters, his handwriting had been copied and a letter forged with incredible ease. On top of that, the count was now certain that all of the evidence he had collected was merely bait fed to him by Barbosse, after seeing the marquis’s attitude the previous night. Ruseria would now pay the price for losing himself in anger and falling right into Barbosse’s trap.

“Our country has been prosperous and strong for a long time. Our expansive territory and our military, as well as our foreign diplomacy, have forged a lasting peace.”

That’s how the enormous kingdom of Gracis had been protected, at least on the surface. Within its borders, the peace of Gracis had begun to rot. In recent years, some nations had been growing to become nearly as strong as Gracis was. If any of those nations were to find out the state of this kingdom’s internal affairs, they might use it as an opening to attack.

“Before you were even born, the period between His Highness’s birth and coronation was when the royal family and the nobles were most divided.”

Ruseria had been still young at the time and had only figured this out by piecing it together from various bits of information. The king at the time, Herscherik’s grandfather, had a keen eye for spotting corrupt nobles. Still, those nobles had cleverly concealed all of their evidence, preventing the king from stripping their titles or exiling them.

“Just then, our country was met with a series of tragedies. An illness befell one royal family member after another.”

In hindsight, Ruseria was doubtful that they were natural ailments. The perceptive king succumbed first, followed by the First and Second Princes at the time, leaving the throne to the Third Prince without any powerful supporters. Since the prince was only ten years old at the time, Barbosse became his patron and regent. By the time the king turned eighteen and Barbosse returned the regency to him, most of the minister’s opposition and powerful nobles loyal to the crown had been nearly wiped out, albeit not entirely. Before anyone realized, the minister and his forces had taken control of the political scene in Gracis.

“As a young boy living in the countryside, uninterested in politics, I didn’t notice it in time... I beg of your forgiveness, Your Highness.”

Lips pursed, Ruseria drooped his head. He appeared beaten down by his powerlessness, as though he was about to disappear. Despite being taller than average, the count now seemed much too small—a man robbed of everything. Now that his last hope turned out to be a false one all along, Ruseria had nothing left in this world.

“...I’m sorry.”

What came out of Herscherik was an apology. Ruseria slowly looked up at the surprising reaction to find Herscherik holding back tears as they formed in his light blue eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t realize. You were fighting so hard, and I didn’t notice anything. I’m sorry...” His words came out choppy from the effort of controlling his sobs.

After all that was taken from him, he kept fighting... He lost everything, and still fought on, alone...

Robbed of his family and having lost his compatriots... Even as he found himself completely isolated, the count never abandoned the fight. Herscherik had lost his family from his previous life. Even now, he nearly came to tears every time he remembered them. How were his father, mother, and sisters doing back in Japan? He thought Ruseria must have felt much like he did now, and Herscherik could no longer contain his tears. He missed Japan. He wanted to go home, to see his old family. The emotions that he’d kept locked down for his own protection now came flooding out.

I was lying to myself all this time.

Even subconsciously, Herscherik must have known that it was the only way to protect himself from the pain. Ruseria took a different path, though. He had accepted all the rage and vengeance, and fought against the hand he was dealt. That was his truth. Herscherik was sure of it.

“...You believe me? What if I’m trying to trick you by telling you lies that make me look good?”

“No one trying to trick someone would ever suggest that,” Herscherik declared and stood up. “I’ll tell Father to have you released right away. With the rest of the evidence you have, we should be able to topple the minister’s scheme. Wait for me!” Herscherik ran off without waiting for a reply.

I can’t let him be executed... We can’t lose him!

Herscherik returned the way he came, avoiding all the patrolling eyes along the way. It was almost time for the castle staff to begin getting up. With a few close calls, he made it back to the royal quarters and headed to his father’s chamber.

While his father had told him of its location before, this was his first time actually visiting it. Herscherik wondered if his father was in someone else’s room, but light illuminated from under the door to the king’s chamber. Without even knocking, Herscherik opened it.

“Father!”

“...Hersch?”

His father was sitting alone on the couch in front of the fireplace. Although the fire was nearly out, the lamp nearby was casting a warm glow over the room.

“What are you doing up so early? I thought you hated mornings. And look at your clothes...”

Herscherik looked down at his own clothes to find that his coat, pants, and shoes were all covered in dirt, with a few leaves sticking to them. It was painfully obvious that he had been outside. But Herscherik paid it no mind and approached his father, who had stood up from the couch, and tugged on his father’s clothes with his dirtied little hands.

“Father, please listen to me!” Herscherik demanded with the intensity unbecoming of a three-year-old. He had been acting his age most of the time up until this point, but he couldn’t afford to keep up the ruse right now. A man’s life was on the line—perhaps even more than one. With that in mind, Herscherik couldn’t be bothered with acting like a proper three-year-old.

“Count Ruseria is not a traitor! He’s not... the bad... guy. He... was... set up...!”

Herscherik would not have understood himself with his words being squeezed out from his lips in between sobs. As he looked up at his father with a desperate expression, his flooded tears blurred the handsome face of his father. Frustration, heartache, sorrow... All sorts of emotions were whirling inside Herscherik. For the first time since his rebirth, these feelings flooded him before pouring out of him in the form of tears and sobs.

“You...can’t...kill him...”

Herscherik knew that he had to explain things from beginning to end, logically. Still, all he could muster were monosyllabic words. While he kept himself up by holding onto his father’s clothes, his eyes had dropped from looking up at his father to down at the carpet.

“...Herscherik.”

His father gently stroked his head then picked him up. Today, the prince seemed heavier to Solye than he had all the other times he’d picked him up before. More because of his increased presence than any gain in physical weight, Solye thought.

The king glanced at his butler, who had appeared without a sound. “I’m going out. I’ll be back by breakfast.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

The king acknowledged his butler’s curt response and turned to Herscherik. His youngest prince had shown more emotion than ever before, turning his cheeks bright red as well as his eyes.

“Let’s go for a little walk.”

With that, King Solye walked out of his room with his son in his arms. In the royal quarters, workers were already bustling to prepare for the day. Their mornings were especially early because they kept the house of the most important people in the country. Anyone who worked here couldn’t afford anything less than perfection at any given moment.

With those hard-working people in the corner of his eye, the king carried on. No one stopped him, of course. The only one who could ever stop the king in the royal quarters had been his most beloved late wife, Herscherik’s mother. “Oh? Does my dear husband dare ignore his wife?” she used to say with a smile. It was well known in the royal quarters that this was how she convinced the king, who overworked himself day in and day out, to take a break. What at first appeared to be the queen begging for attention happened exclusively when the king looked particularly restless. As a result, no one dared to intervene. In fact, the workers in the royal quarters had often praised the queen in secret. Remembering this, Solye let out a chuckle.

What a funny thing to remember... Maybe because I’m walking down these halls with Hersch.

Solye looked at his son in his arms, who still had his face buried in his father’s shoulder, holding back sobs. As he petted the prince’s tiny head to calm him down, Solye hastened his step and headed straight to the stable out of the royal quarters.

When he arrived there, a stable hand was already standing by a saddled walnut-colored mare. The king’s experienced butler must have made arrangements ahead of them. As usual, Solye was impressed by his butler’s thoroughness. Putting his son, who had finally stopped crying, onto the saddle first, Solye leapt onto his horse with a flourish and took the reins.

“Hersch. Hold on tight so you don’t fall off.”

Seeing that Herscherik had nodded and placed his hands on the saddle, Solye wrapped one arm around his son, holding up the reins with the other.

His mare, who had served the king almost as long as the butler, trotted slowly out of the back gate as soon as her riders were ready.

“We’re going to go a little faster.” The king held his son a little tighter and spurred his mare onwards.

When leaving by the castle’s rear entrance, there were no other buildings in sight. The capital was located in the southern part of the country, and further south past the capital was an expansive nature preserve, owned by the royal family and comprised of vast grassy fields, deep forests, and steep mountains that had towered over Gracis since its inception. It was a special land reserved for the royal family and those who were granted the king’s permission.

Solye had run his mare up a grassy hill that overlooked the castle and the entire capital behind it. The sun had already risen, and they could see the chimneys on houses down below puffing out smoke from what must have been the fires that cooked their breakfast.

“This is my favorite spot, you know. You’re only the second person I’ve ever brought up here, Herscherik.”

Solye climbed down from the horse and held up Herscherik, who had been immobilized on the saddle. His first horseback ride was bumpier than expected, and it had taken a toll on his rear end. Another ten minutes of that and Herscherik would have started crying for an entirely different reason. With her riders dismounted, the mare trotted some distance away and began munching on grass. Glancing at his horse, Solye sat on the ground, still holding Herscherik, and placed him on his lap.

“Hold on,” Solye said, then he uttered a string of words, as if he was singing. While those words were unintelligible to Herscherik, a gust of wind blew as if to answer a call, whirled around them to shake the grass, and swept off into the distance as Solye finished reciting them. Herscherik didn’t understand what had happened, but he at least understood that something had happened.

“...The first person I ever brought here was your mother, Hersch. What do you think she said on our first outing? ‘I’m starving! I should have brought lunch!’”

Herscherik didn’t understand why his father had suddenly started telling a story about his mother. On the other hand, Solye smiled in remembrance. To Herscherik, his father seemed different from his usual self, somehow, who had always had a gentle smile shaded with sorrow. Now, though, his smile was as clear as the cloudless sky. As Herscherik remained speechless, his father chuckled and looked over the castle illuminated by the morning light before beginning to tell a story in the same tone one might use for reading from a children’s storybook.

“...Let me tell you about a king...who’s just a puppet. It may seem like everyone admires and serves him, but he’s really nothing more than a marionette pulled by unseen strings.”

Herscherik didn’t ask who that king was, because he could easily tell that his father was talking about himself.

“That king was never supposed to be a king at all. He was studying things like farming and only wanted to help his father, the king at the time, and his older brothers. He studied hard, too. But one day, his father and brothers fell ill. And that left no one else to be king.

“At the tender age of ten, the king didn’t know a single thing about politics. That’s when a villain used the young king to take control of the country. Even after the young king became an adult, that villain tried to control the king as he pleased.

“At first, the king tried to fight the villains around him. For his country, for his family, and for his people... But the villains bested him.”

In contrast to his smile in remembrance of Herscherik’s mother, Solye was now expressionless. It was as if he was trying to prevent the pain of the past from hurting him again.

“Your oldest sibling, Hersch, was actually a sister. But she left us when her brother was still in their mother’s belly. The same illness that befell the king’s father and brothers had taken her to the Garden Above.”

“The same...?”

“Yes, the very illness. It only afflicts royalty. No one knows why. There had been no cases until a member of the royal family showed symptoms, and they never found a cure. We didn’t even have time to try and save her...” Solye tightly gripped the fist he wasn’t using to hold up Herscherik. “After she passed, he said to the king, ‘How unfortunate. Let’s hope the same fate doesn’t befall your next child.’”

His expression had flashed from tense neutrality to somewhere between anger and pain. Herscherik was already surprised by his father, who had only ever shown his gentle side so far, displaying any kind of negative emotion, but the story itself was astonishing in its own right. On the surface, the villain’s statement was a show of sympathy. Reading between the lines, though, one could see the suggestion that the same thing could happen again. Anyone with a little perception would have realized who it was that had pulled the strings to kill the king’s father, brothers, and firstborn. When Herscherik realized this, he could feel the blood drain from his face and chill in his veins.

How could anyone do such a thing...?

There was no proof. But Herscherik couldn’t entertain the possibility of his father lying to him. It helped that he had heard Ruseria’s story before this, too—not to mention Barbosse’s mocking, condescending expression. Herscherik’s intuition was right to judge the minister as a scoundrel on his first impression.

This is too cruel...

How could anyone be so cruel? Herscherik didn’t understand. He’d had a niece in his previous life. When Ryoko first met her, she immediately adored her and wanted to protect her unconditionally. Ryoko would have done the same for any other baby, too. Why would this man ever kill an infant? Herscherik didn’t know, and he didn’t want to know.

“...So, the king stopped fighting. He chose his family over his country and his people,” his father concluded, with a weak laugh. To Herscherik, it seemed like he was crying instead. “I resigned myself to being a marionette.”

Solye had no other choice. In order to protect his family and those dear to him, he had to do as Barbosse told him.

Barbosse was cunning. He had brought in wife after wife for Solye, to increase the number of hostages that chained him to the castle. The ladies knew nothing about any of this. They had no secret agenda or jaded outlook on their lives; they only came in hopes of supporting the king. That’s why Solye couldn’t reject them, and the villains seemed to have chosen those women specifically with those criteria in mind. If Solye had refused, they might have been killed, deemed useless as a hostage. Even though Solye knew he was only tightening his noose each time, he couldn’t refuse them. These women were no fools, either. Once they were in the royal quarters and understood their positions, they couldn’t do anything about it, for the same reason as Solye. Just as he wanted to protect his family, so did they. In order to protect each other, no one could fight back... Except for one queen.

“Herscherik, to tell you the truth, I didn’t think I’d marry your mother.”

She had been different. She alone laughed off her predicament and said to the dejected Solye, “Why would I need any other reason to be with the man I love? I’ll beat those cheap schemers back into the world of bad melodramas where they belong!” With that declaration, she fit right in to the royal quarters, cheered up the other wives, and loved their children like her own. Never bothered by the insults of the minister or other nobles, she often shut them down with her own words. She was a proud and kind woman undaunted by anything. But even she couldn’t contend with the power of nature. Leaving her child behind, she departed for the Garden Above. The only silver lining was that at least she didn’t fall to Barbosse’s schemes.

“So, Hersch, I will protect you. I’ve known I would since the moment you were born.”

...I didn’t realize.

Drawing on his memories of reading novels and playing video games in the fantasy genre during his previous life, Herscherik had always felt strange about his situation. Despite being a prince, Meria was the only one who ever took care of him. In any of those fantasy stories, a prince was always surrounded by various servants, workers, and men- and women-in-waiting. At first, he thought that they were trying to keep the expenses for their Seventh Prince low by only having Meria tend to him. Now, Herscherik understood that he had Meria alone by his side so it was easier for the king to keep an eye on any unwanted interactions. Moreover, his father had come to see him at various times of the day to make sure he was all right. Even if a nefarious figure were to bribe the workers of the royal quarters, they couldn’t so easily sneak in if they didn’t know when the king would be with Herscherik. If Solye was this thorough, Herscherik thought, he had probably restricted visitors, too. Unlike his brothers, Herscherik had no family on his mother’s side to protect him. If someone was going to use a prince to threaten the king, it was more likely that they would come for Herscherik, who posed the least risk.

Solye spoke to the speechless Herscherik, controlling his tone as if to suppress his emotions. “When he came up to us at the party last night, I thought maybe he could be the one to defeat that evil man... I had hope.” A short-lived hope. Even he was just another marionette dancing to the pull of Barbosse’s strings. “...I’m sure you’re disappointed that your father’s such a selfish king, Herscherik.”

After a moment, Herscherik shook his head.

If I was in your shoes, I think I would have done the same.

He would have protected his precious family before faceless strangers, too. Herscherik did understand that it was selfish for a king to do so. A king had to be devoid of self, the lonely top of the social pyramid. A king had the duty and responsibility to prioritize the country and its people over his beloved wife or his own children. He should take advantage of his family members in any way he could, then cut them off when they were no longer useful. In that sense, Solye did fail as a king. But as an individual, could anyone have accused him of being selfish? Sealing away his own emotions, suffering through humiliation all this time... If he was the patriarch of any other family, no one would have blamed him for his choices.

But Solye was the king. The throne he never wanted still weighed him down with responsibilities he had never asked for. Herscherik could easily imagine his father, being far too kind, tormented endlessly by those responsibilities. He saw Solye as a very gentle and kind man. The people of his country, though, must have only seen their king as a bumbling fool. Herscherik finally realized that his father had not changed out of his clothes from the party yesterday and figured that he must have stayed up by his fireplace all night, troubled by the event. Looking, perhaps, for some way to save Ruseria.

“...Then why doesn’t the king get rid of the bad guy?”

Have him executed without a trial. A king, a man with that kind of power, could do it. Even though Herscherik knew that it was the wrong thing to do, he had to ask.

With a sad smile, his father stroked the head of his youngest son.

“Because then, the king would be a dictator. Not a king. I would rather be a fool of a king than a dictator... I don’t want to become what he is.” Drawing a line of morality—that was the only thing Solye could be proud of in his life and in his reign. “I really am the worst king there is...” Defeated, Solye confessed how he truly felt.

Even as he resigned himself to taking orders from his puppeteer, he couldn’t afford to follow every order. No matter how he was disrespected, Solye was still the king. Though it took a heavy toll on his mind, the king had always played a delicate game of parley with the minister and his men. For the most part, all of the nobles that opposed the minister had been dispatched from their positions or exiled from the capital and the political scene. Some had fallen to illness or accidents. This led to Solye facing the minister’s gang alone, with no hope of anyone backing him up. Whenever they proposed policies only designed for their personal gains, for example, the king did everything he could to minimize the damage to his people. Still, the kingdom was gradually rotting from the inside and sinking into the mud. On his own, Solye couldn’t stop his country from crumbling away.

“But I still...” Wanted to protect the people I love. Solye’s drained and painful expression finished his sentence for him.

A king and a dictator may appear similar in nature, but they were separated by an uncrossable line. Even if Solye made himself a dictator and took out the puppeteer in the shadows without just cause, it would only create another abscess that ate away at the country. When a similar situation would inevitably arise again, Solye would be forced to use his power again, this time without justice. As a result, his unchecked power would only deteriorate the country further and bring about its doom. There were many countries that had ended this way in the world Herscherik inhabited in his previous life. He did understand the state of his nation and his father’s predicament. Still, he couldn’t let it go.

“But...! But!”

What about Count Ruseria!?

Herscherik’s eyes were flooded again with tears that he thought had dried up. Faced with the fact that he was his father’s heaviest shackle and the reality that he could do nothing about it, a sense of powerlessness overtook Herscherik. He dove into his father’s arms. He hated himself for not being able to do anything but cry... which made even more tears streak down his cheeks.

The mare simply watched the father and son from afar.

When his master returned to the room, the butler with the deeper-than-emerald steel-colored hair, Rook, greeted them with a perfect bow.

“Welcome back, Your Majesty.”

He looked up with his nearly black eyes to find Solye carrying the Seventh Prince Herscherik, who had cried himself to sleep.

“Thank you. Can you make my bed, please? And let Meria know. She must be worried.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

With a short reply, Rook immediately headed into the bedroom to make the bed. That being said, Solye hadn’t slept a wink the previous night, so he practically just had to run his hand over the comforter.

After Rook left his quarters, Solye gently lowered his son down onto his bed and tucked him in. With one finger, the king wiped away the tear streaks on Herscherik’s cheeks and stroked his hair. Each and every movement Solye made overflowed with his love for his son. He silently stepped out of the bedroom and closed the door before letting out a long sigh.

Perhaps it was too early to tell him.

He knew that he had to tell Herscherik the truth sooner or later... He thought he knew that, but he didn’t realize how soon that day would come. Solye trudged to the sofa and sat down, letting out another long sigh. After silence had ruled the room for a few moments, Rook returned.

“How was Meria?” Solye asked, recalling how the brunette and small-statured Meria had served as the only lady-in-waiting to Herscherik’s mother.

She wasn’t of noble birth but a commoner from the countryside who began working at the castle after graduating from the academy with excellent grades. A woman of her status would not have had a chance of working in the royal quarters if it hadn’t been for the insistence of the king’s favorite wife, who wanted her to serve as her lady-in-waiting. This meant that Meria had no connections to the nobility nor any influence from the minister’s allies. She was someone Solye could trust, and she had even volunteered to serve as Herscherik’s nanny.

“She was worried, but I let her know that the prince is here.” After a beat, Rook continued in the tone of a concerned friend, “...Did you tell him everything, Solye?” Rook was, in fact, concerned for the king who now wore a morose expression. Rook was the king’s only confidant, his childhood friend, and one of the very few men he could trust. “Did you mind your surroundings?”

Solye nodded at his confidant who had given him a sharp glare. “Just to be safe, I searched the area and set up a barrier before telling him... Besides, they wouldn’t expect me to have such a weighty conversation with a three-year-old.”

“Right... I never expected your youngest prince to be the first one to ask you.”

Rook had also expected the princes and princesses to realize the state of their country and come demanding their father of some answers. But neither Rook nor Solye had expected the youngest to beat everyone else to the punch. They would have bet that the First Prince would have been the one to come to him first, within the next few years or so. Their expectations about the timing of it aside, Solye had always been determined to tell his children the complete truth when they asked for it. That was his responsibility as a king and father. The rest he would leave up to each child to decide—whether to remain a member of the royal family or forsake their position to live free... or to join the minister, even.

Come to think of it, Hersch was always a little different than his brothers.

Until he was one year old, he had grown up similarly to the rest of Solye’s children. After that point, though, he seldom cried. Instead, Solye had noticed that Herscherik often followed people with his eyes, as if to observe their temperament. As soon as he could stand, he started changing and eating on his own, too. Herscherik did occasionally show some childish stubbornness, but he mostly behaved very well. He never threw a tantrum; he kept his emotion in check like an adult. Come to think of it, Herscherik had grown up so fast that even his childish demands seemed like an act at times.

Now, Solye recalled that Herscherik had always seemed timid or embarrassed when he saw him. For a while he was concerned that his son disliked him, but when he’d asked Meria about it and discovered that the prince acted the same way toward her, Solye was quite relieved. It seemed as though Herscherik somehow did not know how to be a child. Still, Herscherik was the one that came to him this morning, showing his emotions practically for the first time, begging him to save Ruseria.

“But the prince is only three. Didn’t you think to play it off?” You should have, Rook thought, criticizing Solye with his eyes. Herscherik was so young that Rook couldn’t help but give his master such a glance.

“Not after he looked at me like he did,” Solye shook his head.

He had considered for a moment how to dodge the question, thinking Herscherik was much too young. At first, he did consider postponing the conversation. But, as soon as he saw Herscherik’s unwavering, teary eyes, Solye knew that his son wouldn’t be satisfied with a cheap excuse. Besides, he could easily imagine that Herscherik would never back down unless he explained the cruel reality of how the marionette king could not save the count.

“What’s on the docket today?”

“...After breakfast, you have a meeting with Minister Barbosse. Regarding Count Ruseria.”

“All right.” Solye let out another long sigh.

The true ruler of the castle struck while the iron was hot. Solye suspected that Barbosse intended to finish the job before the king had any time to react. In fact, the minister must have orchestrated this outcome. More than anybody, Solye knew what kind of man he was dealing with.

And I couldn’t do anything about it...

The sense of powerlessness that had become so familiar since his coronation overwhelmed Solye once again. All through the night, he had tried to find a way out for the count, to no avail. That’s how thoroughly Barbosse had prepared to frame Ruseria. Solye imagined that he must have gotten hold of some incredibly damning evidence to make Barbosse pull out all the stops like this. Barbosse was going to make sure Ruseria was disposed of, and the king knew that the minister would force him to dig the count’s grave alongside him.

All because I’m powerless...

Putting all of his weight onto the couch, Solye gazed up at the ceiling. Torn up by his feeling of powerlessness, the king sighed heavily. As he lay there in silence, Rook proposed, “...Solye. If you wish, I can take the count and...”

“No,” Solye interrupted his old friend in a stoic tone he rarely employed.

“But...”

“If you do, he’ll come after you... I should be the only one who lives with this guilt.”

As his friend tried to argue, Solye turned his eyes to him, stopping him with the shake of the head. Rook could feasibly help Ruseria escape. He could get the count out of prison and hide him in his family home far from the capital. If he went through with that, though, Rook and his family would be Barbosse’s next target. The Febvres, Rook’s family, had already been forced out of the capital by the minister. They were lucky to be alive. Some nobles that opposed Barbosse had ended up dying or losing their titles as their land or business mysteriously failed.

On the surface, Barbosse was never involved with any of those cases, and despite how suspicious it seemed, no one had ever confronted him about it. No one could. That’s how much control Volf Barbosse held over this country. The most Solye could do was hold the reins back a little to keep the minister and his men from going too far. More often than not, the king couldn’t even do that.

Solye looked down at his powerless hands. Even though he hadn’t taken any direct action to hurt all of those people, he saw his hands soaked in blood. When he faced the minister after losing his first daughter, he was forced to acknowledge the fact that he was the only one who could protect his family from this beast wearing the skin of a man.

“...Feel free to be disgusted with me, Rook.”

For the first time in a while, Solye addressed his friend by his name. They had known each other since Solye was born. They were raised by the same nanny and brought up in the same way. To this man, whom Solye had spent more of this life with than anybody else, he could show his honest weakness.

His friend answered the feeble suggestion with a chuckle.

“On the day you fall to the Darkness Below, Solye, I will be by your side.”

Rook didn’t say this because he was the king’s butler but because he was Solye’s friend.

A nostalgic view spread out before Herscherik... returned to the body of Ryoko Hayakawa. She could tell that she was in a dream. Her body felt weightless, and the view before her was monochrome like a film from a bygone era. Ryoko recalled reading in some magazine column once that dreams were, by nature, generated so that people could organize their memories and that they were always colorless; it was only her mind colorizing them as she processed the dream upon waking.

She stood before her parents’ home. The house was 25 years old at the time; they had moved into it when Ryoko was still in grade school. Soon after that, her youngest sister was born. Ryoko recalled taking care of her first younger sister while her mother worked hard to pack up their old house with her father. 25 years had taken its toll on the once brand-new house, but it was her home, filled with precious memories, nonetheless.

Under the darkened sky, she could see that the front door was adorned with a ceremonial decoration indicating a wake, and next to that stood a sign that read “Hayakawa.” People dressed in mourning were coming and going through this door.

A funeral...? Or a wake?

As if she was being drawn by an unseen force, Ryoko walked into her home with faltering steps. Although she passed by some black-clad family members she hardly recognized, no one seemed to notice or talk to her.

The front door opened onto the living room where she found her niece sitting on the couch. Her eyes were swollen red, and she had a handkerchief clutched in her hands. Next to her, her niece’s father watched over his daughter, concerned. Ryoko found it surprising that her rebellious niece was sitting quietly by her father.

Through the living room, Ryoko arrived at the traditional Japanese room. Years ago, since it was the sunniest room in the house, it had been occupied by her grandmother until she was consumed by dementia. The people in mourning seemed to be going in and out of this room in particular. Ryoko peeked inside. Her eyes widened.

Oh, that’s what’s going on.

Albeit slightly shocking, Ryoko made sense of what was happening. The room was filled with the smell of incense, as well as her family and bosses and numerous bouquets and gifts of sympathy. Ryoko found the funeral photo of herself, and her own body lying motionless on her bed.

This is my wake.

It seemed too vivid to be a dream. In fact, she recalled how dreams were supposed to be a simple reorganization of memories. Ryoko wondered why she was imagining such a scene when it obviously was not one of her actual memories. More than anything else, it felt bizarre to see herself dead.

Taking advantage of the fact that no one seemed to see her, Ryoko approached her body on the bed and observed it up close, from head to toe. For one thing, she was relieved that her body wasn’t torn to bits in the accident. She had heard once before that terribly damaged bodies were wrapped in bandages like mummies or put in a closed casket for their wake. She had never been to any event like that, though. Now that the mortician had done up her face, Ryoko thought her corpse looked prettier than she did when she was alive. She didn’t know how to feel about that.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you for coming.”

Ryoko turned toward a pair of voices to find her direct supervisor from work speaking to her mother. In the place of her father, who sat there staring at the funeral photo with an empty expression, Ryoko’s sisters had been greeting the extended family and acquaintances.

“Thank you for giving us the picture. She wasn’t good with photos... I was looking all over for a recent one when you brought us that picture from your company retreat.”

...I just don’t like being in pictures, mom.

Ryoko never hated her face, per se, but she never particularly liked it, either. Ever since grade school, she had been bullied and called ugly for it, and whenever she took a photo with someone else in it, her face always seemed too big in comparison. So, even when Purikura photo booths were all the rage among her peers, Ryoko had always refused, no matter who was asking or what meal they offered to buy in exchange.

For the past few years, I always ended up with a double chin if I was looking downward at all...

Said photo from the company retreat was a mandatory group photo, which explained the slight discomfort she showed in the funeral photo.

“Miss Hayakawa was a great asset to our company. When things were tough, everyone was lifted up by her dedication, her smile, and the cheerful sound of her voice,” her supervisor said.

A particularly successful area manager chimed in. “Absolutely. At every branch, we all knew to call Miss Hayakawa at headquarters whenever we were in a pickle.”

Ryoko was surprised that a man with such a busy schedule had come to the wake of a no-name office worker like her.

“Miss Hayakawa was brilliant and caring. She also had a tough side, but she never turned her back on anyone in trouble. Many of our local employees would have loved to come. I’m here on the behalf of everyone at the company, so as to not intrude.”

That’s why I’d get calls every day...

Ryoko recalled a particular day in the office. In addition to her normal tasks, she would often receive calls asking specifically for her. The caller would range from a branch employee or managers all the way up to a district manager. They would ask about all sorts of things that Ryoko, for the life of her, couldn’t see how they related to her job description.

“Hey, Ryo Baby, how’s it going? I got something to ask you, by the way...” That was just one example. Ryoko couldn’t exactly tell someone above her pay grade to stop calling her “Ryo Baby.” Looking back on it now, it was definitely inappropriate conduct, but Ryoko was just too busy at work to think about it at the time. Besides, once they got her on the phone, Ryoko was hooked by curiosity. She would look into anything she needed to, no matter if the question should have been directed to a different department in the first place, so she could make any reports and suggestions. Thanks to that, she ended up in a vicious cycle where she kept learning more and more about various departments within the company, which only led to more and more calls requesting her help.

I mean it wasn’t like I didn’t like being relied on.

Working at headquarters, Ryoko sometimes felt like she never really saw the fruits of her labor. Unlike jobs at the branch locations, she never interacted with customers directly or saw tangible results like boosted sales that could be plotted on a chart. But when someone came to her for advice and thanked her, she felt fulfilled. Like she had a purpose. She wanted to learn things she didn’t know yet. She wanted to feel needed. While it sounded like her boss and the district manager thought of those qualities in a positive light, Ryoko only ever saw them as self-gratifying.

Looking back on it, I was such a petty person. My bosses are painting me to be this... Wow, this is embarrassing.

Knowing that no one could see her, Ryoko clasped her temples in her palms where she stood. In contrast, her mother’s eyes thinned into a remnant of a smile.

“Really...” Her mother seemed exhausted, her cheeks sunken. She seemed to have aged an entire decade since Ryoko last saw her. Like her body had shrunk. “Ryoko didn’t tell us much about her work... I’m glad she was able to help the people of her company,” she said and turned to Ryoko’s funeral photo. “She was our oldest, so I relied on her for a lot of things, too. I was worried that I was preventing her from finding a husband by doing so, but it sounds like she was very fulfilled at work.”

Ryoko reminisced. Her work in her previous life hadn’t been easy. There were plenty of unpleasant experiences, even to the point where she had considered quitting on a few occasions. In hindsight, she would credit her family, as well as her bosses and coworkers, for her ability to tough it out.

How her boss and her mother had described her felt like an answer to the equation that was Ryoko’s life. She worked hard, delved into her hobbies, and spent time with the family she loved. All of it had come to an instant, irreversible conclusion in that accident, but Ryoko now believed that she had lived each ordinary day in her previous life as best she could. Even if no one else saw beauty in the life she lived, Ryoko wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Herscherik opened his eyes to see an unfamiliar ceiling. He was confused for a moment because of the dream he just had but concluded that he must have fallen asleep after listening to his father’s story, and he was now lying in his father’s bedroom. The bed he was on was made of the highest quality materials. A set of thick curtains blocked out the sunlight from the windows beside it.

“It’s not right...” Herscherik mumbled and sat up.

He clenched both of his fists. They were much smaller than they had been in his previous life. Maybe it was just a self-gratifying dream his subconscious had conjured up. Still, he knew that Ryoko’s life was the best she could have had. An ordinary life where her hard work was rewarded. But in this world, the ones who strove for justice were punished, while the deceptive ones mocked the weak with impunity.

“The world can’t be like this.”

Herscherik wondered. In the two years he had spent in vain since his reincarnation, how many people had cried to themselves in the dark? How many had died? Angry at himself for turning his back on reality and thoughtlessly wasting his days for those past two years, Herscherik could still do nothing but wet his cheeks with tears at his powerlessness.

Despite the season being early spring, Ruseria’s cell became rather cold after sundown, making his breath materialize in puffs of white. The count was spending his second night in his cell sitting on the simple cot on the floor and staring up at the small, barred window, his only connection to the outside world.

I wonder if Prince Herscherik is all right.

The sight of the youngest prince, with his blond hair and blue eyes, visiting him all alone in the early morning just to hand him his pocket watch refused to leave Ruseria’s mind. When he had first met the prince at the party, his initial impression was that Herscherik was unassertive, just like the king. His blue eyes had floated nervously around the party, like a faint light parting through a layer of thick, dark clouds. His far-from-flashy, muted blond hair had reinforced the count’s ghostly impression of the prince. When that same prince came to Ruseria’s cell, however, he was practically a different person. While there was still a slight shade of nervousness about him, his eyes shone incomparably brighter than they had at the party. Ruseria couldn’t turn away from Herscherik’s gentle, sapphire-like eyes full of concern for his injury. Ruseria felt more than curiosity about them. The instant he met the prince’s eyes, an emotion akin to awe and respect had overtaken him, and he could not avert his gaze from the prince’s. Instinctively, Ruseria had bowed in a pledge of loyalty and given the prince every answer he’d asked for. In the end, the prince ran off, declaring that he would stop Ruseria’s execution.

I hope he’s all right...

Despite standing on the brink of death, the count’s mind was completely occupied by Herscherik’s well-being. Perhaps because the prince was now the same age Ruseria’s son had been when he had lost him. Although his son wasn’t blond or blue-eyed, or as handsome as Herscherik for that matter, the count couldn’t help but see a resemblance between them.

Then, Ruseria heard footsteps coming down the hall outside the cell. A single pair of feet, the count deduced. While he also had an easy guess as to the identity of his visitor, Ruseria couldn’t be bothered to look away from the window. The footsteps stopped in front of his cell, as expected.

“This suits you well, Count Ruseria.”

With a silent sigh, Ruseria turned around to find the man who had been the catalyst of his demise. He had guessed correctly. “What do you want, Viscount Grim?”

“Hmph. I’ll be Count Grim before long.” The chubby man raised the corner of his lips in a victorious smirk.

Viscount Grim was one of the nobles aligned with Minister Barbosse. It was his embezzlement of national funds that Ruseria had uncovered. The viscount had claimed an exorbitant amount of governmental aid by making falsified reports.

“A soon-to-be count has deigned to come and converse with a lowly criminal like me? Glad to hear you have plenty of free time on your hands,” Ruseria answered, revealing a portion of his annoyance.

Grim’s expression shifted from triumphant to snarling. “Hand it over, and I’ll let you live.”

“It? Whatever are you talking about, O noble Count?”

“Enough of your games!” Grim kicked the metal door of the cell. It made a considerably loud clang, but Ruseria didn’t hear any guards stir down the hall. He assumed that Grim had already paid them off. “The thing you have!”

“Oh... It. Hm.”

Now which thing is he talking about...? Ruseria racked his brain without showing it. After spending so long gathering evidence and testimonies, he had accumulated a considerable amount of “things.” He regretted, above all, that what was supposed to be his most surefire and incriminating piece of evidence was nothing more than a bait in the minister’s trap. Not that it mattered to Ruseria now that he was imprisoned without possibility of release, but it seemed that one of the pieces of evidence in his possession was very inconvenient for Grim. What else could have riled him up this much?

“Why bother asking me? Go find it yourself.” Ruseria dismissed him then answered his own question in his head. In fact, considering that it took him so long to come to me, I’m sure he’s rummaged through my effects already.

“If I could find it, I wouldn’t be talking to you!” Grim kicked the metal door again.

Ruseria frowned at the loud clanging of the door and bars, exasperated by the predictable answer.

“If you tell me where it is, right now, I’ll make a case for canceling your execution tomorrow. Hand over the letter!”

“Make a case to no avail, right?” Ruseria was surprised at the lack of emotion in his own words. He opened his pocket watch to see that it had already passed eleven o’clock at night. “I can’t imagine that he’d miss this golden opportunity just for the sake of your personal security after going through the trouble of sending an assassin my way.”

Barbosse had indeed hired an assassin against Ruseria. That was what had illuminated for Ruseria that he had little time left and that he had already acquired a piece of evidence that the minister wanted to recover at all costs. That’s why Ruseria had come to the capital to present it, despite his perilous position.

I was just off the mark on which piece of evidence he was concerned about...

With a note of self-deprecation, the count closed his watch and held it tight in his hand. He had already prepared for the worst when he decided to come to the capital.

“Begone, Viscount Grim. Or Count Grim. ...You have my gratitude.” Ruseria smirked.

As soon as Grim saw Ruseria’s face, a shiver ran down Grim from head to toe, as if he was doused by a bucket of ice water.

“Thanks to you, I can die serving my country, unashamed of the life I’ve lived. I’ll be waiting for the arrival of you and your whole lot in the Darkness Below, alongside its wardens.”

People in this world believed that all lives became mere souls after death and transcended to the afterlife, where they would find themselves in one of two places. Those deemed by God to have a benevolent soul were invited into the Garden Above, where they spent some time in unbridled exaltation before reincarnating into their next life. On the other hand, those deemed by God to have a malevolent soul were sent to the Darkness Below, where the Dark King judged the crimes of their souls, sentencing them to a torture worthy of their crimes. After serving their punishments, those souls were purified and reborn into a new life. There were wardens that guarded the gate to the Darkness Below, preventing any evil soul from escaping that realm. In this world, parents disciplined their children with the threat that the wardens of the Darkness Below would snatch away any misbehaving children.

All Ruseria had done was bark out a threat like a cornered dog, but Grim still felt like he had somehow lost. In order to shake that feeling, he slammed his clenched fists against the steel door. The uproarious clang echoed through the cells once again.

As the sound faded, Grim growled from the pit of his stomach. “Enough of your yapping... Only the strong and the cunning survive in this world. Those who are neither, the fools, are rewarded with death after a lifetime of servitude, or pay for their insolence with their life! That’s why I will survive, and you will die!” Without waiting for Ruseria to respond, Grim turned around and walked away with large strides.

I have all the time I want to look for it, Grim repeated to himself. I will rule his land once he’s dead, after all. Still, he never managed to wipe away that sensation of defeat.

After silently watching Grim’s retreat, Ruseria shrugged and stroked his watch. He pushed the button in firmly to reveal the portrait. It was the only keepsake he had to remind him of his wife and child. The portrait had been drawn soon after his son’s birth. Ruseria had often left in the midst of his duties to visit him, only to be scolded by his wife. Each day, he had found joy in watching his son grow and contentment in his wife smiling beside him. But now Ruseria had lost everything. He would even lose his life before the next sunset. He wondered if Grim was right—if only the strong and the cunning deserved to live in happiness while the weak were left with no choice but to accept injustice. Ruseria couldn’t be sure.

“...Count Ruseria.”

“My Prince?” The youngest prince was peering through the barred window just as he had that morning. Bathed in moonlight, his face looked a little reddened. He looked down at the count, clearly on the brink of tears. “I meant to ask you this morning... Isn’t anyone with you? It’s dangerous to be out on your own.” Youngest or otherwise, it was inconceivable for a prince (a three-year-old, no less) to be out at night without a chaperone. Herscherik shook his head at the question and seemed to be indecisive on whether he should say something or not. “What is it, My Prince? Even though spring has come, it can get cold at night. Please return to your room so you...”

“I’m sorry, Count Ruseria. I spoke with father, but it didn’t help.” As soon as Herscherik interrupted Ruseria, large teardrops overflowed from his gem-like eyes. Despite Herscherik’s attempts to stop the tears by wiping his eyes with his sleeve over and over and biting his lip, he couldn’t keep the droplets from rolling down his cheeks. Father tried too, but he couldn’t do anything. That sentence sounded too much like he was making an excuse for Herscherik to dare utter it. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry... sorry...” Until he got here, Herscherik was determined not to cry. But when he met Ruseria face to face and uttered the desolate result of his appeal, he was overcome with sobbing. No longer able to meet Ruseria’s eyes, Herscherik groveled to the ground, unbothered by his face digging into the dirt. Herscherik hated himself for being so powerless and didn’t know how to face Ruseria.

“...Prince Herscherik, please lift your head.” Ruseria’s gentle voice reached Herscherik’s ear. When the prince timidly looked up, he found Ruseria’s face nearly pressed up against the bars of the window and a pocket watch being presented to him. “Take this with you.”

“What...?”

Without giving Herscherik a chance to respond, Ruseria shoved the watch at him.

“Count, this is something precious to you, isn’t it? I can’t accept this!”

“I won’t be able to take it with me.” Ruseria stopped Herscherik from hurriedly returning the pocket watch. Then, although he thought it might have been against court etiquette, he wiped the dirt from the prince’s face. Feeling the particular sensation of a child’s skin, Ruseria reminisced about how his son often played in the dirt and muddied his face. His son had chuckled at each wipe of Ruseria’s hand on his cheek. The prince before him now did not smile. Somehow, that fact felt very regrettable to Ruseria. “Thank you, My Prince. Now that I know someone like you has a hand in this country, I can leave this world with a shred of hope.”

When the indictment at the party didn’t go as planned, Ruseria had tossed the watch on purpose, in a split-second gambit that someone would take notice. Ruseria had won his own bet. The seed to save his country had now been sown.

“Live well, My Prince. And please save our nation.” Ruseria was aware of how reckless that sounded. What could the Seventh Prince, a three-year-old, possibly do to that effect? Still, he couldn’t help but hold out hope. Herscherik was the only member of the royal family out of everyone at the party who had come and directly spoken to him. This prince made decisions and acted on his own accord. “You’ll be in danger if someone finds you. Please return to your room.” Ruseria couldn’t afford to lose the only ray of hope he had found at the brink of darkness.

“Count Ruseria!”

“...My Liege.” Pulling his hand away from Herscherik’s soft cheek, Ruseria took a step back and knelt. Then, raising his right hand to his chest, he took a bow. This was the utmost display of respect that a subject could make to his master. “My body is a sword that cuts through your enemies, a shield that protects you from harm, and a staff that guides your way.” Ruseria lowered his head further. “Even though my body will perish, my soul will remain forever by your side to protect you... Please forgive me.” Even as he faced his own execution the next day, Ruseria couldn’t help but make this plea. He no longer cared to wait for his nemeses in the Darkness Below; he only wanted to be by the prince’s side. If anything, he wished that he had met the prince sooner. If he had, perhaps his life would have come to a different conclusion at a different time.

Herscherik wiped his tears with the sleeve of his coat and stood up. He hadn’t learned much about the etiquette of this country, so he didn’t know how to respond to Ruseria’s oath. So, he simply spoke his mind. “I welcome you, Count Ruseria. Even as your body leaves this world, may your soul be forever by my side. I will not let your words, your thoughts, and your life be in vain.”

Ruseria dared not lift his head until Herscherik had concluded. The silver pocket watch in Herscherik’s hand shone with the faint reflection of the moonlight.

The extravagant room normally used for guests to hold an audience with the king was now darkened, with all of its windows covered in thick curtains. The faintly illuminating lights seemed to further weigh down the atmosphere of the room. On the tallest throne sat the king, with the minister beside him in a seat almost as tall. By their side stood the adjudicator, reading out Ruseria’s charges. They were surrounded by nobles, officers, and knights all standing in formation without a word.

They added some charges... I guess they’re making me the scapegoat for those, too, Ruseria noted in self-defeat. While his hands were cuffed, he was still clad in attire becoming of his nobility. Combined with his neatly combed hair, his appearance was unmistakably that of a gentleman, in contrast to the treatment he had received when he was arrested.

“In consideration of your rank as a noble of the kingdom and by the mercy of His Majesty, you are hereby granted the privilege of self execution.”

A golden chalice embedded with jewels was presented to Ruseria. Self execution, in this case, meant suicide by poison. Ruseria glanced up to find Grim smirking behind the minister, who wore a solemn expression. The king, on the other hand, stared down at Ruseria with an expression that was utterly devoid of color. He was still none other than Solye Gracis, the father of Herscherik, to whom Ruseria had sworn his loyalty to the previous night.

...I used to think they were much alike. Perhaps Ruseria was biased. Still, it seemed that the prince he saw under that moonlight had not given up hope like the king before him now clearly had. The prince sincerely wanted to help Ruseria, whom he had only ever met the night of his birthday party. Furthermore, the prince lamented and suffered from the realization of his own powerlessness. Even still, my liege is not without hope. Ruseria could see hope in Herscherik’s jewel-like eyes, unlike in the king’s.

Ruseria was uncuffed and given the golden chalice filled with wine. He wasn’t afraid to die. He did feel some apprehension, if he was being honest with himself, but his newfound ray of hope overruled it.

Dear Creator... Dear gods... May your blessings be upon my liege. Long live Prince Herscherik, and...

“Glory and prosperity be to Gracis!” Ruseria swallowed the contents of the chalice.

The cathedral bells could be heard from the open window. The bells were rung to show the dead their way out and to serve as a guide for any and all departing spirits, good or evil. That’s what Meria had taught Herscherik. Now, the bells tolled to announce Ruseria’s departure from this world. Sitting on a chair by the window as his silky blond locks fluttered in the spring breeze, Herscherik tightened his grip on the pocket watch in his hand when the sound of the first bell reached him.

Only the strong and the cunning survive in this world. Those who are neither, the fools, are rewarded with death after a lifetime of servitude or pay for their insolence with their life!

He recalled what Viscount Grim had said to Ruseria the night before. After watching the scene unfold from the other side of the barred window, Herscherik couldn’t get Grim’s face out of his head.

In a way, that philosophy could apply to Japan, too.

He recalled his previous life. Whenever political corruption came to light, the media had swarmed the culprit, demanding a resignation or some other form of retribution. Ryoko had been infuriated at the news, too, that someone would abuse tax money gathered from the people. Still, it wasn’t a world where one powerful figure could squash such scandals. Of course, no one responsible for such a thing would be sentenced to death, either.

But this world is different.

The one who tried to do right was eliminated by the powerful and cunning evil. This world was crueler than the world of any video game or novel Ryoko had experienced. Herscherik, having enjoyed fantasy genre stories in his previous life, had been living in this world with the same thoughtlessness as someone living in a world on the other side of a screen.

“What will you do, Hersch?” his father had asked him after he finished telling the entire story on that hill, as his youngest son failed to contain his stream of tears. “If you wish, you can leave the royal family. Or you can marry a princess in some safer country. If there’s something you’re passionate about, you can pursue a career in it, too.” It was the best expression of love his father could muster. Even if Herscherik remained in the royal family, Solye could only imagine him being fashioned into another marionette or simply killed off by the minister. Unlike the other princes, Herscherik had no protection.

Herscherik thought the minister might even try to kill his father and make Herscherik their second-generation marionette. If the people were to revolt, the royal family would be slaughtered. Barbosse kept the king alive while maintaining himself as the true ruling power as a contingency for such an event. If Herscherik pursued one of the options his father had presented to him, he would most likely live out his life in safety. If he left the royal family and never looked back, he would probably find happiness, too.

But what about Father? What about the count, who departed this world after trusting me with everything? What about all the people who are neither powerful nor cunning?

“Just and honest people made to suffer simply for being weaker than the rest of the world... It’s not right.” The spring breeze rushed through the room, and it felt like Ruseria had heard Herscherik’s declaration. He jumped off of his chair and tightened his grip on the watch again before gazing up at the sky. “You’re by my side, aren’t you, Count Ruseria?” The bells had tolled to guide the dead. The count’s soul should have been on its way to the next world. But the count had sworn to remain by Herscherik’s side forever, even after his soul left his body. “I won’t run away.”

When he was born as a prince, his starting point in life had been set. That was a fact that he couldn’t change and a position he only maintained through the sacrifices made by his father. Even if he had remained ignorant about the scheming behind the curtains, none of that would have changed. Now that he knew everything, he was in a position where he could change this world. He couldn’t do it through tears, though.

Herscherik was determined not to cry again. “I will change this world. I will protect them.” He swore to protect his father, his family, his country, and everyone the puppeteers had deemed powerless.

For the first time since Ryoko Hayakawa’s reincarnation as Herscherik, he swore an oath.