Chapter One: Sunrays of Spring, the Undefeated General, and the Duty of the Royals

The markets overflowed with goods, the castle town was bustling, and the laughs of children could be heard throughout the streets—as one might expect from the largest country on the continent as it welcomed the spring. However, beneath this superficial veneer of peace, a worrying shadow lurked.

On a mezzanine in a library lit up by the gentle spring sunlight, a young child occupied the sunniest seat of the floor. His blonde hair, seemingly woven from the very rays of the sun that poured down on him, was only just long enough to hide his ears. His face was childlike yet beautiful, and his eyes shone like emerald as they ran over the pages in front of him.

His name was Herscherik Gracis, the Seventh Prince of the Gracis Kingdom. Currently seven years of age, he was soon to start his first year at the academy. However, the history books he was in the middle of reading were far beyond the level of any ordinary seven-year-old. Even many adults would have found these books a difficult read, yet Herscherik breezed through them, not showing a hint of boredom. In fact, he was smiling as if these dry tomes were entertaining.

Any normal person would doubt their own eyes and question if he was actually reading these books. However, he was not only reading them, he also understood the contents and even analyzed them in his head. It was not a feat a normal child would be capable of, but he was no normal child. Herscherik possessed memories of his previous life.

In his former life, his name had been Ryoko Hayakawa, a woman born and raised on Earth, in a country called Japan. She had worked in a corporate office, all the while living for her hobbies as an average otaku spinster. The day before she was supposed to turn thirty-five, she had been in a traffic accident, the result of which was her unfortunate early departure from this mortal coil. When she next opened her eyes, she had found herself in a world where magic was real, reincarnated as the youngest prince of a kingdom.

Seven years had already passed since Ryoko was reincarnated as Herscherik, who had learned the grim truth about his country at the tender age of three. Now, he was making full use of his knowledge from his previous life to fight the darkness that infested the country. He had only recently, with the help of his attendants, managed to prevent a terrorist attack by the Church; as a result, his popularity had increased exponentially among the people of his country, young and old.

So, while Herscherik may have been a seven-year-old child on the outside, on the inside he was a woman in her thirties. Add this to the years he’d lived after his reincarnation and Herscherik could be considered in his forties, a perfectly normal age to be reading such specialized academic books. Not to mention he had been quite a bookworm in his previous life.

However, to the eyes of others he was still only a child, and his strange behavior thus had a tendency to attract curious glances. Today, though, he had someone even more eye-catching at his side who stole any attention that would otherwise have fallen upon him. Herscherik lifted his gaze from the fine writing of the book, moved his head around to relieve his stiff neck, and quietly stole a glance at the person sitting across from him.

The target of his glance had long white hair that reached all the way to the hip, amber eyes that could be confused for liquid gold, and an appearance that could only be described as a blessing from the goddess of beauty herself. With a single smile, they could have captivated countless men—anyone would have thought this rare beauty was a gorgeous woman. However, to the disappointment of many, he was very much a man—and one famous in the castle for smiling rarely, if ever, at that. His name was Weiss, Herscherik’s Spellcaster of service, usually called Shiro by his master. Incidentally, Herscherik additionally had a butler of service and a knight of service, but at that time they were both preoccupied with their own work.

Shiro, famous for his grumpiness, was currently wearing a very rare smile on his face, busy fiddling with the item in front of him.

“Are you having fun, Shiro?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I see...”

Shiro answered his master with a single word, instead devoting his full attention to the object in his hand. The item in question belonged to Herscherik himself, and was an antique-looking silver pocket watch which had been entrusted to him by the late Count Klaus Ruseria. To Herscherik—who possessed not one ounce of athleticism or magic, not to mention being the most plain-looking among a family of beautiful royals—it was a useful item, as it allowed him to use some limited magic.

It had recently been revealed that this pocket watch was actually a very valuable Ancient relic. And so the magic-loving Shiro, called a “magic maniac” by his comrades, had shown great interest in it. Most of the Ancient relics that had been discovered so far no longer worked, and while there were relics that had been successfully duplicated through research or used as a reference for other devices, it was rare to find one still functioning. Thus, Shiro’s inner magic nerd had been activated.

Shiro would fiddle with the pocket watch whenever he could—in fact, if he had no time for it he would make time—in an attempt to figure out how it worked and how its formulas were designed. Even now, he was staring intently at it as he moved his finger across its surface, only to suddenly break out his fountain pen and scribble something down every now and then. He would then turn to his magic books to look something up, then resume his fiddling again, on and on ad infinitum.

Quietly observing this goddess-like beauty as he carefully observed the pocket watch, Herscherik was reminded of the passion he’d had for his hobbies in his previous life. He knew from experience that nothing good ever came from encroaching on someone else’s interests. Of course, he’d learned this from having other people stick their noses into his own obsessions.

“Just don’t break it, okay?” Herscherik warned Shiro to be on the safe side, but Shiro only nodded in response. Herscherik was not the type to make a fuss about his authority as master, but he still couldn’t help but feel left out. He turned his sorrowful gaze back to his book—just as someone suddenly flung the doors open with a violent bang that sounded wildly out of place in a library.

Herscherik instinctively whirled around to see the source of the noise, only to find an out-of-breath official, seemingly searching for someone. As he did so, the librarian could be seen approaching him at tremendous speed. One of Herscherik’s fellow book aficionados, this man was usually of a rather calm and gentle disposition; however, he spared no mercy for anyone who would dare disturb his library.

“What’s his problem?”

Herscherik turned to the source of the voice to see Shiro, who had been in a good mood just seconds before, staring in irritation at the official.

“Good question. It looks like he’s looking for someone,” Herscherik replied with a contemplative look. Just in case, Herscherik reviewed his schedule for the day in his head. Before lunch he had attended one of Shiro’s lectures on magic, but he had nothing in particular planned for the afternoon. Usually he would have spent this time studying in his room or visiting the castle town, but today he had stopped by the library after hearing from the librarian that they had procured the newest volume in a particular series of collaborative novels. After borrowing the book in question, he had decided to spend the rest of the day there, reading through a history book that he was not allowed to remove from the premises. Hearing that his master was going to the library, Shiro had accompanied him as well, not unlike a duckling following its mother.

Nope, can’t think of anything in particular I’d be needed for, Herscherik concluded and returned to his book. However, with his voice raised almost to a shriek, the official disproved Herscherik’s conclusion.

“Is Prince Herscherik here?!” he shouted far too loud for a library, after which Herscherik could hear the librarian’s accusatory voice. Herscherik closed his book with a sigh.

“I guess this is the last of my easygoing days,” he mumbled and got to his feet. He then followed the official down a corridor and on to the main council chamber.

The main council chamber was an assembly hall where the leaders of the kingdom, including the king, could all meet together. With that in mind, Herscherik theorized that the meeting he was about to attend was one important enough to sway the fate of an entire nation.

On the way there, they passed official after official, all carrying paperwork with distressed looks on their faces, sprinting as if they were all in some sort of race, which lent further credence to his theory.

“Please hurry, Your Highness,” the official urged Herscherik.

I can’t really do much about the length of my legs... Herscherik complained internally, as the image of his Spellcaster of service, whom he had just parted ways with, popped into mind. Herscherik had asked Shiro to go fetch his other men. He had also informed the official that his men of service would be joining the meeting, albeit belatedly. When the official frowned at the suggestion, Herscherik had made his very best puppy eyes and said in a worried tone, “But if they’re not with me, I probably won’t understand very much,” to which the official agreed immediately.

Shiro, having been separated from his beloved pocket watch, was now in a bad mood. In addition, since the use of magic on the castle grounds was generally forbidden, he was forced to find his fellow men of service by foot, which only made him grouchier. Herscherik imagined Shiro intimidating everyone he passed like an upset cat, and couldn’t suppress a sad smile.

As a result of his upbringing, Shiro had some—or more accurately, significant—issues trusting others. In addition, as his appearance tended to attract unwanted attention, he was constantly in a hostile mood. But Herscherik knew that his hostility toward others was merely a defense mechanism.

If only Shiro could learn to communicate a little better... He didn’t need Shiro to be perfectly pleasant with everyone, but him isolating himself from others was a problem. His otherworldly appearance already made him stand out enough.

But that’s a topic for another day. Now, let’s see what we have here... Herscherik thought as he looked up at the entrance to the main council chamber. The doors were large and magnificent, befitting one of the most important rooms in the castle. The official swung them open and showed Herscherik inside.

On the other side of the heavy doors awaited everyone involved in the country’s politics: nobles, important officials, generals, the king, as well as the royal family. It was a strange place for a child who had not yet entered the academy to be.

Let’s see how this plays out, then. Now the center of attention, Herscherik pretended to look confused—while chuckling fearlessly in his head.

The man shrugged his shoulders and sighed, tired of the worrisome mood in the assembly hall.

I can’t take this anymore, he muttered internally, waiting for what was already the fifth meeting on the matter to start. Annoyed, he ran his fingers through short blue-gray hair, squinting his similarly-colored eyes as he let out a yawn. His name was Heath Blaydes. With a cross-shaped scar adorning his forehead and stubble his chin, he was a thirty-five-year-old mercenary-turned-general, and a rather unique one at that.

For one thing, it was almost unheard of in Gracis for former mercenaries to reach the rank of general. And on top of that, Heath had never even wanted to become a general to begin with. Not to mention that he was awfully young for his position.

Heath had originally been affiliated with the mercenary guild, but his life had taken a strange turn when, seeking a more stable career, he decided to enlist in the military. He hadn’t minded the mercenary life when he was young, but as he grew older, turning twenty and then twenty-five, he began to worry about his future. Given the choice between two careers that both involved risking his life, he decided that rather than walking the dangerous and unstable path of a freelancer, it made more sense to become a soldier employed by the state. Luckily, the army had been recruiting soldiers just around around that time, and he decided to join—obtaining a regular salary, guaranteed leave, and a more secure retirement plan. Or so he’d thought.

Heath’s bright future soon vanished before his eyes. During a particular battle, the sergeant of his squadron lost his life, and Heath, having previous experience as a mercenary, was temporarily given command in his place. Then, after distinguishing himself in the battle, he was promoted for real.

Heath was baffled. Promotions had not been part of his retirement plan. For better or worse, he had planned to keep at it as a mere soldier for a few years, after which he was going to leave the front lines for administrative work before finally retiring to the countryside where he would spend his time quietly tending a farm.

However, what was done was done. It was never a good idea to get on the bad side of those above you, so he became a sergeant as they asked, executing his duties flawlessly without ever exerting more effort than he needed to.

During yet another battle, his superior commander—a lieutenant—was killed in action. Heath was once more asked to take his commander’s place, distinguished himself, and found himself being promoted yet again. The same thing happened over and over, until he found himself a captain, and then a colonel, rising through the ranks with extraordinary speed. It was unprecedented for a former mercenary, and a commoner at that, to reach that level of prestige.

Then, finally, his luck ran out when the head of the Aldis family—famous for its knightly lineage—and then-general Marquis Roland Aldis set his sights on him. Roland made a habit of highlighting Heath’s achievements, and whatever reckless strategies Roland came up with, Heath would, begrudgingly, pull them off without a hitch. As a result, Heath distinguished himself in one battle after another before finally finding himself a mercenary-turned-general personally sponsored by the Aldis family.

“Why in the world did I end up a general...?” his adjutant would often spot him muttering, gazing off into the distance as he smoked a cigarette. Of course, knowing that he was only trying to escape the paperwork towering over his desk, the adjutant made no effort to console him. However, he did consider Heath a very capable general; while he might spend all his time complaining and dumping the training of soldiers, meetings with the National Defense department, and any paperwork on his subordinates, no one was more reliable on the battlefield. Whenever Heath stood on the front lines, he would distinguish himself without fail.

His ax would cut his enemies down and water the earth with their blood. In a pitched battle, he could hold his own against the Blazing General himself. He also excelled at predicting his enemy’s movements, made decisions at light speed, and always issued appropriate orders. As a result, the survival rate of the soldiers under his command was an order of magnitude higher than other divisions. The soldiers would say that if you got assigned to Heath’s division, you’d come home safely from any battle. In time, the people of Gracis started referring to him as the “Undefeated General,” though Heath himself took no joy in the nickname.

Now, however, Heath was sitting in on an emergency meeting, along with the royal family and the leaders of each branch of the government. He had only yesterday returned from an expedition to slay some monsters, and between the expedition and his ever-growing pile of paperwork, he was exhausted. Using this as an excuse, he had been scheming to flee his responsibilities and go into hiding, but he was discovered and scolded by his adjutant, who forced him to attend the meeting. If he seemed to be slacking off for even a moment, Heath had one of his most serious subordinates sitting behind him, waiting to cough or lightly kick Heath’s chair as a reminder.

All in all, Heath was very uncomfortable right now.

The meeting concerned how to respond to the southwestern Atrad Empire having increased their presence at the kingdom’s border.

“Based on our surveys, the empire has stationed roughly ten thousand soldiers along the border.”

Several people gasped upon hearing this report. However, Heath was not among them.

Yeah, things have been pretty fishy down there lately, Heath muttered internally, as if the matter at hand did not concern him. While it was not a large army by any means, it was still too large to be described as simply a minor brush with the enemy. The kingdom and the empire had had a number of skirmishes over the past few years, but those had never involved more than a few hundred soldiers.

Gracis and Atrad had long been on poor terms. While both countries were similar in that they were ruled by a monarch—a king and an emperor, respectively—their governments were structured quite differently. While Gracis was nominally ruled by a king, the nobility also possessed significant power, and in practice they were the ones who truly controlled the country. Atrad, on the other hand, was an autocracy headed by the emperor, who had complete control over what went on within his nation’s borders. The emperor was considered a superior being—taken to the logical extreme, if the emperor claimed that white was black, then that became the truth for the citizens of Atrad.

The empire had launched invasions, large and small, against the kingdom multiple times in the past, but so far the kingdom had managed to repel the enemy force each time. The kingdom had itself declared war on the empire in turn many times over. The last large battle against the empire had taken place roughly ten years before, when an imperial army of a hundred thousand soldiers had stormed the kingdom’s territory. However, the commander-in-chief at the time, General Roland Aldis, had defeated the imperial forces with the help of his capable subordinates, ultimately costing the empire almost half of its army.

Twenty-five years old at the time, Heath had also participated in that battle as a mercenary, and what had played out before his eyes had truly been the stuff of nightmares. The mercenaries in particular, who were considered expendable, were sent straight into the middle of the fray, and Heath had commended himself on making it out of there in one piece. That had also been the very moment when he’d thought to himself, “At this rate, I’ll be dead before I even have a chance to grow old,” and had decided to enlist as a soldier.

A little over a decade had passed since then, and in part due to the empire’s internal conflict, the few invasions that had taken place in the intervening time had been rather small-scale. However, that internal strife had been snuffed out, and the new emperor who held control over the country had ordered an attack on the kingdom as a demonstration of his power. This much the National Defense department’s intelligence division was already aware of, and plans to strengthen the border were already in motion. However, the imperial army had arrived far sooner than the kingdom had expected, and while not as large as the attack ten years ago, the fortifications at the border had little hope of defeating an army over twice its size. The best they could hope for was to maintain the current situation.

This meeting concerned the deployment of more troops to meet the enemy at the border, as well as the provisioning of supplies.

And I bet I’m the one who’s gonna have to command that army... Heath thought, letting out an exasperated chuckle. Hearing the adjutant clear his throat behind him, he hurriedly put on a serious-looking face, but he was still fed up internally. Everyone here was a noble except Heath. Even though he was a general, they viewed him as being lower rank than them, and would have him take care of anything remotely troublesome. However, he would accomplish every task dumped on his shoulders without a hitch, which in turn only annoyed the nobles more. Heath could only laugh about it.

His gaze drifted around the room. There, he found someone who seemed out of place in this council chamber—Herscherik, the youngest prince, with a confused look on his face. He was currently sitting quiet in a chair reserved for him in the corner of the assembly hall, surrounded by his siblings in all directions.

Something’s gotta be going on here. It would be one thing if they were preparing for an all-out war, but it was highly unusual for the whole royal family to be present to deal with an army of a mere ten thousand enemy soldiers. While this may have been an urgent matter involving the empire, for an attack of this size it would normally suffice for National Defense to deliberate the matter internally, write a report, and ask for the minister’s and the king’s approval once they’d made a decision. But this time around, not only the National Defense top brass, but also other important officials, nobles, the minister, and even the king were all gathered here. Of particular note was the presence of the king’s children.

Heath glanced at the seat of honor, where a beautiful, youthful king was sitting. He had silver hair that looked as if it was spun of moonlight, magnificent emerald eyes, and a graceful face that displayed a hint of sorrow, perhaps from exhaustion. Though he looked to be in his twenties, King Solye was in fact in his forties.

Next to the king was the crown prince, Marx. His face radiated the same seductiveness as his father, with vivid red hair that looked like it had been formed by melting down the finest rubies, and piercing eyes of the same color that betrayed his strong will.

On the other side of the king from Marx, was the minister, Marquis Volf Barbosse. Barbosse patted down his light brown hair as his similarly-colored eyes ran across the papers he clutched in his hands. His stern expression seemed somehow insincere to Heath.

Heath knew the truth about the state of the kingdom, but he had no interest in attempting to do anything about it himself. He kept his distance from politics, worrying only about protecting his country. His duty was to protect the nation and its people—not the king. Whenever he voiced his thoughts on this matter, though, his adjutant would scold him about his lack of loyalty, but considering that the only reason he joined the army to begin with was to lead a quiet and comfortable life past retirement, loyalty was not among his foremost concerns. He was, however, attached enough to the country to stand in the way if ever the power that should be protecting the people was instead used to hurt them.

Now then, what happens next? Heath sighed quietly, for which his adjutant kicked the leg of his chair to reproach him.

Paying no heed to the lethargic Heath, Herscherik looked around the council chamber while putting on a confused expression. He was stationed in a corner of the room alongside his siblings, observing his father, who was sitting next to his oldest brother, Marx, and the chair, Minister Barbosse. Along with the higher-ups of the various departments and some of the more powerful nobles, all of them were sitting around a long table placed in the center of the room.

“The imperial army is located roughly...”

There was a large map on the table, though Herscherik was unable to see it from where he was sitting, and someone from National Defense was using it to report on the current situation. Herscherik drafted a map in his head as he listened to the report, analyzing the situation quietly.

A new emperor, huh... Well, I guess winning a war would be the fastest way to go about establishing his reign, he thought. Not only would it allow him to demonstrate his power both domestically and abroad, it would also expand his own territory. Depending on the outcome, the empire might advance on us with an even larger army down the road.

Now, what is he up to? Sandwiched between his brothers, Herscherik shifted his gaze to Minister Barbosse... The man who manipulated people however he pleased and sacrificed lives without hesitation, all while enjoying the spectacle from a safe distance, controlling the country from the shadows. The person responsible for robbing Herscherik of so many people he cared about.

Herscherik placed his right hand on the pocket that held his silver watch, then caressed the gently shining copper-colored earring in his left ear before bringing his hand back to his lap. The original owners of these items were no longer with him. One had been executed as a result of this minister’s schemes, and the other had sacrificed herself to protect Herscherik. The prince remembered the expressions on their faces as they died and clenched his fist.

“How many are stationed in the border fort?” an official asked, snapping Herscherik back to reality.

“We have around three thousand soldiers there. However, the report states that food reserves are running low, since they were forced to shelter civilians who couldn’t be evacuated in time. That means a prolonged battle would be difficult. We did arrange for the evacuation of nearby villages, reinforcements, and provisions as soon as we were informed of the situation, but...” In response to the noble’s question, the head of National Defense made a sullen face, which told the whole story. “The main problem is low morale.”

Herscherik had a good idea why that might be the case. There were three reasons why the soldiers there were likely uneasy. First, they hadn’t faced an army of this size in a long time, so they were not used to battle. Second, the enemy empire possessed a military strength on par with that of the kingdom, meaning victory was hardly assured. Third, the much-beloved Roland Aldis, also known as the Blazing General, had retired three years previously. Having emerged victorious from numerous battlefields, the Blazing General was still influential even now, after his retirement. If Roland were to return to the front lines, he could rally the soldiers and demoralize the enemy at the same time, whether they wanted a war or not. Supposedly numbers were everything in war, but that wasn’t exactly the whole truth. Even if faced with an overwhelming opponent, if the enemy had no will to fight, the situation could always be turned around.

A new general as influential as Roland had yet to appear in the Gracis army. Thus, the head of National Defense was deeply concerned about morale on the field.

“I... have a suggestion.” The person who spoke up was the minister, who until now had only facilitated the meeting from his place next to the king. The air of the room turned tense in response to his words. The minister turned his gaze to Herscherik, his hazel eyes meeting Herscherik’s emerald eyes. “How about we let Prince Herscherik accompany the expedition as the king’s proxy, to cheer on the soldiers and raise morale?”

It’s almost like time’s stopped, Herscherik thought, as though he was unconcerned about the events actually unfolding. He could feel how everyone’s gazes turned toward him as the people in the room held their breath. The first to break the silence was Marx, sitting next to the king.

“Do you understand what you are saying, minister?” Marx, who was normally careful about his conduct, always wearing a smile on his face, now shook his red hair as he turned his piercing gaze toward the minister. “Herscherik is only seven. Having him on the battlefield is out of the question. If someone from the royal family is necessary, I shall go instead.”

He spoke without hesitation, putting his hand on his chest so as to indicate himself. However, Barbosse shook his head in response.

“Prince Marx, what are you saying? Your Highness is the crown prince,” Barbosse spoke with a troubled expression on his face. In response, one of the brothers right next to him stood up.

“In that case, I will go.” Herscherik looked up at the person who had spoken, only to find the Second Prince William directing an even sterner look than usual at the minister. His hair, the same silver as his father’s, was braided, and he gazed at the minister with blue eyes as deep and cold as the bottom of the sea. “I am the Second Prince, and I’m plenty old enough for it.”

“Oh no, Your Highness has the important task of assisting Prince Marx. And have you not your own duties to attend to?”

William frowned. Having graduated from the academy this year, in addition to his royal duties, William had also joined the Foreign Relations department. Though he was a member of the royal family, he was still new to his job and thus always found himself busy with work.

“Then...”

“Neither Prince Arya, Prince Reinette, nor Prince Eutel are suited for this encouragement mission, either.” The minister interrupted the Third Prince Arya, who had just stood up to volunteer. “Princess Cecily goes without saying, being a woman, and along with Prince Arya and Prince Reinette, your contributions to this country’s magical research are invaluable. Your research on combination magic in particular is of national interest. Prince Eutel is still recovering from his illness, so the battlefield would be hard on him. Prince Tessily is currently studying abroad, while Princess Meno is receiving treatment away from the city.”

Herscherik could hear his brother holding his breath above him. Looking up, he saw the triplets grimacing in frustration, their usual warm expressions gone, while Eutel’s face was twisted into a malicious sneer. Everything the minister had said was correct. The triplets, who had slowly but surely been improving their combination magic technique, were indispensable for the country. And for Eutel, who was bedridden just a few days ago, a mission like this would be far too taxing.

“And so,” the minister said, his gaze fixed on Herscherik, “considering Prince Herscherik is already a popular and well-known figure since the incident with the Church, he would be sure to inspire the soldiers, were he to accompany them.”

The minister continued with a radiant smile on his face. “Why, there is nothing to be worried about. The expedition will number more than double that of the enemy forces. There is not a single chance that Your Highness would be exposed to danger. I beseech you, Your Highness, won’t you accept this mission—for the good of the country?”

Herscherik rolled his eyes internally in response. Cut the crap, you old schemer. As if it’s not obvious what you’re trying to do.

Even the barest amount of common sense would say that sending a seven-year-old child to the battlefield was a ridiculous proposition, and while the minister had attempted to give the best arguments he could, they were all far-fetched and forced. He was simply doing everything in his power to pass his absurd proposal. The fact that none of the other officials and nobles were speaking up must have meant that the minister had already bought them off.

He had rejected the idea of sending every one of his siblings, preached about the good of the country to block off any and all arguments, and then given his advice knowing full well that Herscherik would have no option but to accept. Herscherik had been given one, and only one, possible answer. Of course, even had he been given other options, Herscherik had already made up his mind. However, before he could reply, a voice reverberated through the room.

“Absolutely not.” A short, but powerful declaration. All eyes fell upon the owner of the voice.

That owner was the king, Herscherik’s father, the 23rd king of Gracis, King Solye Gracis. His face pale, Solye repeated his declaration.

“Absolutely not.”

“Your Majesty, I understand that you disapprove, but this is a matter of public order. Prince Herscherik may be young, but as royalty, does he not have a duty toward the kingdom?“ Barbosse, ostensibly a mere minister, rejected the king’s objection flatly.

“Even so...”

“Might it be that Your Majesty objects because it concerns Prince Herscherik in particular? Are you giving preferential treatment because he is the only child of your favored wife?”

Solye could say nothing in response. He had never treated his other children poorly. However, to Solye, it was unavoidable that Herscherik would end up being his favorite child. Herscherik’s siblings understood this, and they all considered him their dear youngest brother. Not to mention that Herscherik had a tendency to dive headfirst into danger—so they had all done their best to protect him.

But suddenly, the object of the discussion stood up and took a step forward.

“I will go,” Herscherik said with a sweet smile on his face, in a tone so casual that one might have thought he was talking about going on some minor errand.

“Hersch?!” Solye stood up with such force that he almost knocked over his chair. Herscherik’s siblings observed him, dumbfounded. Even so, he continued speaking, his smile never faltering.

“You are all in quite a predicament, correct? I’m powerless by myself, but if there is something even I can do to help, then I will gladly do it.”

“But Hersch, it’s dangerous.” Eutel spoke in a soft tone and with a gentle expression—although to Herscherik, who knew what he was really like, it came across as a threat more than anything. However, Herscherik still refused to change his mind.

“I’ll be fine,” he said, looking straight at Barbosse. Having removed the mask of a confused young prince, the person who now stood there smiling was the true Herscherik. He continued, his voice ever so slightly more serious, “I have my men of service to protect me.”

The only ones who noticed the change in his voice were his family. Though the change was ever so subtle, they knew this was Herscherik declaring war. As if prompted, the doors to the main council chamber were suddenly flung open. Through them came Herscherik’s trusted men.

“Excuse us.” A man with messy orange-and-gold hair entered the room. The outfit he was wearing, resembling the uniform of a royal guard, marked him as the youngest prince’s knight of service. His slightly downturned eyes, blue like the sky, looked around the room. Finding his master, he showed a relieved expression for a split second before turning serious once again.

“Prince Herscherik’s knight, Octavian Aldis, requests permission to enter.” Though had already entered the room, Octavian—called Oránge or Oran by his master—raised his right arm in front of his chest and gave a knight’s salute.

In response to this, the nobles, many of whom were already displeased that he’d been granted this status in the first place, began to disparage and criticize him. “We’re in the middle of a meeting! You might be a mere knight, but do you lack even the most basic manners?!”

“Pardon me,” a cold, tranquil voice interrupted. “My liege has already arranged for our participation in this meeting. Furthermore, a man of service is someone who has been recognized by the king himself. Does a mere noble have the right to look down upon that?”

The person speaking, a bright smile on his face, was a man with glossy black hair and eyes like dark rubies that gleamed with a threatening light. Clad in a well-tailored suit, Schwarz Zweig—or Kuro as his master liked to call him—took a bow, after which he glanced around the room.

“We serve not the country, but our master and no one else. We have received permission from His Majesty to stay at our master’s side and to always put him above all else. Is not criticizing and disparaging us the same as criticizing His Majesty?”

The nobles fell silent upon hearing Kuro’s merciless sermon. As much as the minister may have been controlling the country from the shadows, the king was still the actual ruler. It was unthinkable for a noble to disparage the king out loud.

“Hey, is Herscherik okay?” said Shiro, failing to read the room and forgetting to address his master by title. Looking around with the same cranky expression as he’d had when they last parted, Shiro spotted his master and his expression softened slightly. However, that only lasted for a moment. Noticing that Herscherik was standing up front all by himself, he twisted his blessedly-beautiful face into a frown. To him, it only looked like his master was being publicly reprimanded.

“Oh?” Shiro said, narrowing his eyes, as the atmosphere in the room grew even more tense. It almost seemed like the temperature had dropped as well. It was said that the beautiful had the fiercest tempers, but Shiro was well past “fierce” and deep into “terrifying” territory—or so the gossip in the castle went. He was famous for using magic to retaliate against those who persisted in mistaking him for a woman, despite being informed otherwise.

Once, a high-ranking official had even tried to make a move on him, to which Shiro responded by sending him flying with wind magic—and that was only the beginning. At the same time, the official’s wig was also sent flying, exposing the bald head he’d tried to hide to the public eye. Though he came out physically unscathed, the same could not be said for his pride.

Another time, a noble had attempted to grope Shiro. In retaliation, Shiro had trapped him inside a magical barrier and then surrounded it with ice, creating something like a magical refrigerator—all while never losing his stony expression. Shiro had said, “Well, he said he liked my cold demeanor, so I just gave him what he was looking for.” In a display of thoroughness, he had also set up an additional barrier to block any outside magic, preventing other Spellcasters from rushing to help. If not for Herscherik hurriedly forcing Shiro to remove the barriers, the noble would have certainly suffered frostbite, even if he wasn’t necessarily in mortal danger.

When a knight, also convinced that Shiro was a woman, took to following him around, Shiro had chased the knight around with a fireball under the pretext of training, leaving the man terrified. Incidentally, Herscherik was later informed by Kuro that Shiro had actually looked very amused at the time.

Herscherik’s Spellcaster of service, who did as he pleased despite the ban on magic inside the castle—though the true blame generally lay with his targets—was now so feared that people had taken to saying, “Don’t play with Weiss and you won’t get burned.” However, he was still popular with the castle maids, who had also been bothered by the bald official, the refrigerated noble, and the fireballed knight. All three had been well-known for abusing their status to harass women.

Thanks to a combination of the targets’ misdeeds and the pleas of the maidservants, Shiro had managed to make it out with only a warning for his actions. When the maids had come to give Shiro their thanks, he had simply replied, “Whatever. It’s not like I did it for you,” his cheeks turning ever so slightly red. This sight had apparently made the hearts of every girl present skip a beat, and Shiro was now more popular with them than ever.

Shiro had a tendency to make even the most innocent remark sound threatening, setting others on edge. It was commonly understood in the castle that Herscherik was the only person capable of taming this wild beast.

Slightly concerned about how each man of service had made his entry, Herscherik opened his mouth.

“Weiss, calm down. You too, Oránge and Schwartz,” he said in a reproachful tone as he approached his men. Upon hearing this, Shiro started sulking, while the other two shrugged their shoulders. To them, their master’s safety came before anything else.

Herscherik had his men of service stand behind him, surveyed the room, and then continued speaking.

“My apologies for interrupting the meeting. But, Father—I will be fine,” he said resolutely, his expression brimming with confidence. “I have an invincible butler, the strongest of knights, and the greatest Spellcaster in the land. There aren’t many who would be able to put up a good fight against my men of service, be it in the kingdom or elsewhere.”

With a bright smile, he continued, “If anyone wants to hurt me, they need to be prepared for what’s coming.”

His gaze was fixed on one person as he spoke. It was an indirect challenge: “Just try me.”

Everyone in this room knew that Herscherik’s men of service were no ordinary individuals.

His butler of service, Schwartz, had served Herscherik since the boy was even younger as his guard dog and shadow. While he now went by the surname of Zweig, no one knew his true past. It was said in the underground that any person who attempted to look into his background would disappear without a trace. Anyone with enough training would, from observing his movements and figure, be able to tell at a glance that he was not your average butler.

Octavian, his knight of service, was the third son of the Blazing General, Marquis Roland Aldis, and had been the youngest person to ever win the Games of Contest. In addition, he was well known for only recently having emerged unscathed from a battle against a hundred drug-enhanced templars while he foiled a terrorist attack by the Church.

Finally, the Spellcaster of service, Weiss, might have been the newest face here, but his extensive knowledge of magic—along with his strange ability granting him practically unlimited Magic Within—had shocked the top Spellcasters of the kingdom. He would construct complicated magical formulas without breaking a sweat, and if he made full use of his vast reserves of power, he could quite literally reduce a whole country to ashes.

Do you really think you’ll make it out alive with them in your way? These were Herscherik’s implied words.

“So I’ll be just fine, Father,” he said softly to King Solye, who had gone pale, and then looked at his siblings and nodded.

I’ll escape any scheme that that minister is plotting, he smiled toward his family.

“Herscherik...” Solye was still unable to completely discard his worries. It was as if a cold shard of ice was stuck inside his chest. But like a ray of spring sunshine, Herscherik directed a smile toward his Father, as if to melt away ice in his heart.

“Please trust me, Father.”

He then turned his eyes to the minister.

“Now then, Minister Barbosse. As the king’s proxy, I will be the commander-in-chief for this mission, correct?” Even if he was but a figurehead, a royal participating in a military expedition would automatically be the highest-ranking officer present.

Barbosse gave an affirmative answer, after which Herscherik surveyed the leaders of each department present in the room.

“Please let me know once you have a schedule, personnel, a draft budget, data from past expeditions, and suggestions on countermeasures against the empire. Also, I would like the opportunity to meet with the persons from each department responsible for handling these matters. I will now be taking my leave so that I can start making arrangements,” Herscherik spoke, having discarded his façade of a gentle, harmless little boy. He then took a bow and turned to leave. “Schwartz, prepare an office immediately and amend my schedule to include the necessary meetings with the department representatives. Oran, collect all available intelligence from previous encounters with the empire and bring it to my room. Shiro, is there any research from the department of Magic...”

Herscherik gallantly exited the main council chamber while doling out orders to his men of service, and the room fell silent. Heath observed the four figures of varying height leave with a dumbfounded expression on his face—and then could not help but burst into laughter, breaking the silence.

“General Blaydes...” a disapproving voice behind him said.

“Oh, oops. Sorry about that. I’m really sorr—pfft!” Heath attempted to apologize, but before he could finish speaking he burst into laughter again.

Come on, how can you expect me to keep a straight face after witnessing that?! The whole room had just been overwhelmed by a seven-year-old child. Had this been a play, Heath would have been giving a standing ovation right about now.

Turning his gaze to the royal family, he found them all sighing and shrugging their shoulders with a resigned expression as if to say, “Of course it would end up like this.” In other words, in their minds this was all within the realm of possibility. And it was also clear just how much they cared for the youngest prince.

I certainly didn’t expect practically every member of the royal family to volunteer in his place. Those with power had a tendency to value their own safety above all. Regardless of how safe you might think you are, being on a battlefield is a frightening experience, as you necessarily expose yourself to the danger of death. Most people would be happy to avoid risking their lives, yet the royals had all stood up in an attempt to protect the prince. That must be what they call familial love.

Heath decided that he had had the wrong impression of the royal family, if only ever so slightly.

However... He turned his gaze to the minister, who was glaring at the door through which the youngest prince had disappeared, his eyes cold but filled with burning rage. Herscherik’s speech had clearly been directed at the minister in an attempt to provoke him. It looks like this mission might be a tad more troublesome than normal.

Heath cared little about the conflict between the royal family and the nobles. The youngest prince, however, had caught his interest. He let out a small chuckle, to which his adjutant kicked his chair for the nth time.