Chapter Two: The Prince, the People, and the Departure Ceremony

Disguised beneath a hooded poncho, Herscherik was visiting the castle town for the first time in a while. He had been unable to do so the two past weeks, having been busy with the preparations for the upcoming military expedition where he was to serve as the king’s proxy.

After the meeting had concluded, Herscherik’s father had been worried about him, his siblings had scolded him, and his men of service had lectured him until he couldn’t take it anymore. And then after suffering through a few hours of lectures, all that awaited him was preparations, preparations, and yet more preparations. As urgent as all of this may have been, Herscherik couldn’t help but feel that the infamous corporate crunch he’d experienced in his previous life was nothing compared to this.

Herscherik was actually on top of the chain of command for this expedition, being the king’s proxy and thus the highest-ranking person on the field. As a result, officials from the various departments involved were flooding into his hastily-prepared office day and night. These past two weeks, he’d worked so hard that he’d almost forgotten that he was only seven years old. If someone from his previous life had been there, they would have been quaking with fear at the return of the “MIL from Hellquarters” right about now.

Faced with all this paperwork, most normal seven-year-olds would have had no idea what to do with it; likely, they would simply sign it without so much as skimming it. And that was in fact what many officials expected him to do, as they began by handing him documents that were filled out in an extremely sloppy manner.

Herscherik, however, would take one look at a document like that and start pointing out every last little thing that was wrong with it. “These calculations are wrong,” “the phrasing here is too vague,” “what’s your source on these numbers?” He would go on at length before stamping the document with a large “rejected.” If an official ever dared to argue with him, Herscherik would ask, “And what grounds do you have for that claim?” and give them a verbal brow-beating before waving the now-teary-eyed official goodbye with a smile. According to the butler helping him with his work, he was like “a mother-in-law picking on her son’s wife.”

Incidentally, Ryoko Hayakawa’s bosses had said more or less the same thing after having witnessed her work—a fact that was well known to everyone but her.

The day before the departure ceremony, Herscherik was visiting the castle town by himself. His men of service were not very pleased at his suggestion that he do so alone, to which Herscherik replied, “Do you really think that Barbosse would attempt to assassinate me in town after going to so much effort to lay that obvious trap?”

Herscherik declared that the minister would never waste his time like that.

However, that was not the only reason for his suggestion. His men of service were extremely attractive, charming, and likely had bright futures ahead of them. It was thus inevitable that, if they went on an excursion all together, they would end up surrounded by women trying to woo his men. That in itself wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but today Herscherik needed to move through the town unhindered, much like he had the first time he’d visited. After much discussion, they reached a compromise where Kuro would watch over him from the shadows, while Oran and Shiro would meet up with him at sunset.

Herscherik greeted the people of the castle town with a smile.

“Now then, where do I head first?” he mumbled to himself, before deciding on the orphanage. It was the same orphanage that had fallen victim to one of the Church’s plots when Herscherik was five, and which was currently run by the Aldis family.

Pausing at the gate, he observed the facility. It had been nicely renovated, and Herscherik relaxed a bit when he caught the sound of children laughing. Suddenly, the door to the orphanage opened and a small girl peeked out. From the bucket clutched in her hands, Herscherik gathered she must have been cleaning.

That’s...

“Vivi?” Herscherik spoke to the girl, at which she quickly turned around and smiled like the sun. Her sienna hair was tied at the back of her head and her cheerful hazel eyes beaming. She would grow up to be a beautiful woman one day, Herscherik thought as she approached him, her simple one piece dress fluttering.

“Prince Her—”

“Vivi,” Herscherik interrupted the girl, placing a finger to his lips. Realizing what he meant, the girl quickly corrected herself.

“Ryoko! It’s been too long.”

The girl’s name was Vivi. Originally it had been Violetta, and she was the daughter of Marquis Barbosse—but she had left the Barbosse family and now lived at the orphanage.

“Hi, Vivi. How have you been?”

“I’ve been great!” she replied cheerfully.

“Do you have a moment to chat?” Herscherik asked, at which Vivi blushed and nodded happily. They sat down next to each other on a bench beneath a nearby tree and started conversing enthusiastically. Vivi talked about how she’d baked bread for the first time, and how badly she’d messed it up; how she was happy to have learned how to do the laundry and clean things up; how she had made a lot of friends; how everyone at the orphanage loved the song her sister had written; how she was studying hard.

“I’m really happy to see that you’re doing well, Vivi.”

“Ryo...ko...?” Vivi looked at the smiling Herscherik with a puzzled look. He seemed somehow different from usual. “What’s wrong?”

Hearing Vivi’s worried tone, Herscherik stopped smiling and furrowed his brow.

“Well, the thing is...”

“Hey look, it’s Ryoko!” another girl shouted, interrupting Herscherik. The two of them looked behind them to find someone peeking out from the door to the orphanage. It was a girl with brown hair and big round eyes—a girl Herscherik had first met when investigating the drug trafficking incident of two years ago. Her name was Colette.

“Hello, Colette. How is everyone?”

“They’re all doing great! I’ll go get them!” Colette replied, then ran back into the building, while Herscherik saw her off with a smile. He then noticed that someone was looking at him, and turned to find a boy glaring at him from the shadow of the building. Herscherik made a troubled face at that.

The boy’s name was Rick. Baron Armin, the former owner of the orphanage who had passed away during the drug trafficking incident, had been like a father to him, and he believed that Herscherik was responsible for the baron’s death and resented him for it. While not an accurate picture of what had actually happened, Herscherik had come to terms with the boy’s anger. After all, Herscherik did bear some responsibility, having indirectly caused the baron’s death by insisting upon investigating the incident.

Rick noticed that Herscherik was looking at him and quickly retreated. Herscherik watched him go with regret in his eyes, but at the same time he was happy that the little boy had not given in to his sadness.

Then, Herscherik turned his gaze back to Vivi, who was looking at him with a worried expression.

“Ryoko, were you about to say something?”

“No, it’s nothing. Everything is fine,” Herscherik replied, forcing a smile while he gently patted Vivi’s head.

Herscherik then spent the rest of his morning at the orphanage talking to and playing with the children whom Colette had fetched and speaking to Anne, the wife of Marquis Aldis who worked as a teacher there. He then bid them all farewell and set off toward the market. He gave Vivi, who was still looking worried, a warm smile as he left.

His next stop was the fruit shop owned by a married couple who Herscherik had spent a lot of time with in the castle town. On his way to the shop, he passed through the red-light district, where some drowsy men and women said hello to him. Incidentally, everyone had told Herscherik to avoid this route at night.

“Oh, hello, Ryoko!”

“Hello, Louise,” Herscherik replied to the lady who ran the shop, who had rolled up her sleeves to expose her healthy-looking skin and was carrying a box of fruit in her arms. As vigorous and hard-working as the day he had met her, she was currently tending the shop as cheerfully as ever. However, there was one thing about her that was different.

“Louise, are you sure you should be lifting something that heavy?” Herscherik asked as he turned his gaze toward her stomach. Her waist, which Herscherik would have been immensely jealous of in his previous life, had swelled visibly. She was expecting a child.

“Haha, it’s not like I’m sick or anything! I’ll be just fine,” she responded merrily. She hadn’t changed since the day they met.

Suddenly, someone else reached out to jerk the wooden box out of her hand. It was a bear-like man, so large and brawny that he could carry four Herscheriks without so much as breaking a sweat, and so expressionless that his face might as well be frozen. The man was a lumberjack by trade, Louise’s husband, and the owner of this fruit shop. Though one should not judge a book by its cover, Herscherik still found it difficult to imagine someone so grumpy-looking carefully polishing fruit with his large, rough hands—despite having witnessed him doing exactly that many times in the past.

“Hello!” Herscherik said enthusiastically, at which Louise’s husband set the box on his shoulder, holding it there with one hand, and used his free hand to pat Herscherik on the head. He then handed Herscherik a piece of fruit from the stand before turning his back to him. Herscherik thanked him, and the man simply lifted his hand and waved in response.

“Now then, are you helping us out today again, Ryoko?”

“I’d love to! Especially since you really should be sitting down, Louise.” Herscherik knew that she would be fine, but he still could not help worrying.

Herscherik then spent some time assisting at the store. He used his youthful, bright voice to attract customers; upon hearing him, some regular customers would show up to shop—and to spend some time talking to the tiny helper. The people of the castle town, having either heard his cheerful laughter themselves or heard about Herscherik from another regular, started gathering at the fruit shop just to see him. Louise’s husband removed the fruit from their boxes and Louise handled the customers’ money sitting down, while Herscherik entertained the customers. Nibbling on the fruit that Louise’s husband had given him, Herscherik tirelessly chatted with the customers who stopped by. Before long the sun had started to set, coloring the sky red.

“Thanks for stopping by, Ryoko!”

“Of course! I had a lot of fun! Will you be working again tomorrow, Louise?” Wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, Herscherik started to carry away the fruit boxes. Louise watched him work, stroking her stomach, before replying.

“The soldiers will be holding a parade tomorrow as part of the departure ceremony, so the market will be closed. But the day after that we’ll be open as usual. Will you be coming by to help out again, Ryoko?”

Hearing Louise’s question, Herscherik froze for a second, but then quickly replied as if nothing was amiss.

“I’m sorry, I’m actually traveling somewhere far away tomorrow...”

“Oh, really? Are you going on a trip with your family?” Louise had heard that Herscherik’s father was often busy and that his mother had passed away. If he was going on a family trip, he would be able to spend some valuable time with his loved ones, and the thought thrilled Louise.

“Something like that,” Herscherik responded, which made Louise immensely happy. After becoming pregnant, strong feelings of love toward her yet unborn child had started to well up inside her. The life she was carrying was so precious and dear to her. Perhaps that is why she worried so much over the sad face that she sometimes saw Herscherik making.

Thinking about children, Louise was reminded about the parade that was to occur the following day.

“Oh, yes—speaking of the departure ceremony, I believe one of the princes will be participating. The youngest prince, Prince Herscherik, if I’m not mistaken. I think he’s the same age as you?”

“Yes, that’s... that’s right.” Louise failed to notice the hesitation in his voice.

“I hear the youngest prince resolved some trouble just recently, together with his subordinates.”

A young prince, not even seven years of age, had gone with his subordinates to prevent a terrorist attack by an extremist faction of the Church. People in the castle town had started saying how this reminded them of the traveling Prince of Light—the main character of a tale that had been popular in the area lately—and Herscherik had seen his reputation skyrocket. And now, he was going to travel to the front lines to raise morale among the soldiers fighting in a border conflict.

However, as far as Louise was concerned, the Prince of Light was a mere fairy tale, and she disapproved of any country that would send a young child to the battlefield.

“Honestly, can you believe that they’re sending a little boy to war? Unbelievable.”

“But he is a prince,” Herscherik replied, his gaze wandering—unbeknownst to the upset Louise.

“I suppose the least I can do is see him off tomorrow...”

“You’re attending the parade in your condition?” It was expected that a large crowd would be gathering to see the soldiers off. The young noble boy cast Louise a worried look, but she simply laughed in response.

“I’ll be just fine! If anything, I need to keep active as much as I can!”

“Louise... Do you mind if I touch your stomach?” Herscherik said, hesitantly. Louise gestured at him to come closer, took his hand, and put it on her midsection.

“Oh, did you feel that kick?”

“I did.”

“Try listening.”

Herscherik put his ear to her stomach. Inside, he could hear the pulse of a small, new life.

“You see, it seems like the country has been improving lately. That’s why the two of us finally decided to have a child.”

It had happened a little at a time. Out of nowhere, the guild tax was decreased and the fees that the guild had to pay the constabulary disappeared. The constabulary had also more or less stopped throwing their weight around and bringing outrageous charges, making it much easier to conduct business. The nobles who used to harass their business rivals had grown quiet, and more smiles could be seen on the faces of the townspeople. It almost felt to Louise as if these changes had started ever since her young helper had first showed up in the castle town.

Of course, not everything was perfect. But everyone had to face some amount of hardship in life. When Louise found herself being able to think that way... that was when she finally found the resolve to raise a child.

This might all be thanks to Ryoko. He always smiled brightly, like the spring sunshine. People would naturally flock to him and when he smiled, so did everyone around him. That smile suddenly reminded Louise of something from her distant past—of a girl with shining golden hair and an unforgettable smile.

Wasn’t she...

“I swear I’ll protect you.” A faint whisper pulled Louise out of her sea of memories, but she was unable to make out what this so very quiet voice had said.

“Huh? Did you say something, Ryoko?”

“No, it was nothing!” the young noble boy replied, taking his ear off Louise’s stomach and smiling—but that smile seemed somehow different than usual. Just as Louise was about to call out to him again, though, someone else interrupted her.

“Ryoko, it’s time to leave.”

“We came to get you.”

It was a man with sunset-colored hair—a man she had seen many times before, along with a stunningly gorgeous woman, albeit one with an awfully deep voice. The woman, who seemed to possess the beauty of a goddess, had long, white, braided hair illuminated by the setting sun—a sun that was the same color as the man’s hair. However, she was wearing men’s clothes, and was missing a few of the curves one might normally expect to find on a woman. That is when Louise realized that she was actually looking at a man.

“Oh, this must be our first time meeting. Is that black-haired young fellow not with you today?”

“Yes, well... Anyway, I need to go home now. Thank you so much for today,” the young noble boy replied vaguely, before bowing deeply and walking off. The beautiful man followed, and the man with the sunset-colored hair quickly bowed in greeting to Louise before running after the others.

“Ryoko, take care!”

“I will!” he replied. After a moment’s hesitation, he added, “Farewell!”

He then waved to Louise and started walking again.

Louise watched the boy as he left, not noticing that the number of shadows surrounding him had increased at some point. Something felt off to her, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what. It wasn’t until the next day that she would realize what it was.

The marching band commenced its performance, signaling the start of the departure ceremony parade. Flags emblazoned with a brightly shining sun fluttered in the wind as the soldiers marched down the town’s main thoroughfare. It was time for the central character of the day—the youngest prince, Herscherik—to make his first appearance before the public.

“Is that...?”

Louise, who was watching the parade near the castle and away from the crowd, her husband who watched over her, and indeed every inhabitant of the castle town that was in attendance—they were all struck speechless at the appearance of the prince.

The first person to draw the crowd’s attention was the beautiful woman who was riding alongside the prince, standing at the back of the roofless carriage. Had someone claimed that she was the reincarnation of the goddess of beauty, the crowd would have readily believed it. Her long-sleeved white and pale blue robe, akin to those worn by powerful Spellcasters, fluttered in the wind together with her showy white hair. She was wearing a number of brilliant ornaments, the sight of which was truly divine. The more devout believers of the crowd instinctively kneeled to pray.

Next was a knight on horseback. Wearing dark crimson armor, one could surmise from his attire that he was a knight of service. He was famous for having recently emerged completely unscathed and victorious from a battle against a hundred crazed templars. However, the crowd had not been expecting him to be quite this young. Even so, they did recognize him immediately. In fact, many of them knew him well, having spoken to him on many occasions before.

And it was not just the knight who left the crowd stunned. The butler serving as the coachman of the prince’s carriage was also intimately familiar to the people of the castle town. He had a shadowy air about him, making him popular with the local girls—so much so that their boyfriends and fathers were starting to worry. However, he was now clad in a fine outfit with his hair combed back, giving off a very different impression than what they were used to.

Finally, the person who drew the most attention and attracted many a confused and emotional gaze was the prince, holding the grand marshal’s staff. They could all picture his light golden hair swaying busily. Everyone recognized his emerald green eyes, smiling gently. It was the beautiful young boy who, despite being a noble, would often be found calling out to passersby at the fruit shop.

That same boy was now holding the grand marshal’s staff, bestowed upon those serving as the king’s proxy. His usually smiling mouth was now a thin, serious line as he stood, dignified, on the royal carriage.

How...

Then, Louise suddenly remembered something. Ryoko reminded him of that girl. The angelic young woman whom the king had brought to the castle, having fallen in love with her at first sight. She had become pregnant with the king’s child, given birth, and then left for the Garden Above.

“Louise, I’d love one of those fruits!” the girl had said whenever she came running, waving at Louise. Back then, she had only recently married and opened a new shop. Times had been hard, with most people barely scraping by, yet that beautiful young woman would always be smiling unconditionally.

Her only child was now departing for battle.

It seemed to Louise that Herscherik looked her way for a split second. He then looked down for a moment before looking up again, his usual kind smile now on his face—the smile that reminded Louise of his dearly departed mother and had always cheered up the people around him.

“Is...” Louise mumbled, but the rest was lost in the noise of the crowd. Her husband supported her from behind as she staggered for a moment, but even his sturdy hand was trembling ever so slightly.

Is that why Ryoko said “farewell” yesterday? That was the first time Ryoko had ever said “farewell” when leaving for the day; normally he would bid them goodbye with a cheerful “see you later.” He knew that we would learn his true identity today. And he didn’t know whether he would even return safely.

Louis did not believe in gods. She figured that instead of relying on something you couldn’t even be sure existed, she would rather trust in her own hard work. Today, however, she found herself praying instinctively.

“Please... Please, protect Ryoko—no, Prince Herscherik!”

Clasping her trembling hands together, that was the first time in her life that she prayed to the gods in earnest.

The day before the departure ceremony, Shiro saw Herscherik to his room before having dinner and going to visit a certain room in the department of Magic. Receiving no response upon knocking, he put his hand on the knob and opened the door. As he entered, the smell of chemicals assaulted Shiro’s nose, making him grimace as he searched the room for the person he was looking for.

The room was not particularly large, so he quickly found his mark by a desk near the window, making notes with a chemical-filled test tube in his other hand.

“Master Sigel,” Shiro called out to the man, whose back was turned to him, but he continued writing without pausing, seemingly unaware of Shiro’s presence. Shiro sighed and stepped closer.

“Master Sigel.” He repeated the man’s name, louder this time. This time he seemed to finally take note of Shiro, stopped writing, and turned to face him.

“Oh, Weiss. I’m sorry—I didn’t notice you there. Also, as I’ve told you many times already, you don’t need to call me ‘Master’” While ostensibly apologizing, the man did not seem apologetic in the slightest. Shiro frowned at this bespectacled man—Sigel—who seemed to be in his early twenties. Sigel placed the test tube he was holding onto a rack, careful not to spill its contents, and then looked back at Shiro while readjusting his glasses.

Shiro then handed Sigel some documents.

“Master Sigel, have this.”

“Have you managed to decode it...?” Sigel responded, surprised, accepting the documents Shiro had handed him and poring over the writing with his ultramarine eyes. There, he found a magic formula that he had been needing. This was a formula that would normally take multiple Spellcasters over half a year to unravel, yet Shiro had—by himself, no less—decoded it in almost no time at all. Sigel was flabbergasted.

I guess this is what a true genius is like... Sigel himself belonged to the category of people who were often referred to as geniuses. As a child, he was considered a prodigy, possessing knowledge of magic that often surpassed that of people many times his age. However, the gorgeous man in front of him was on a completely different level, and not just with regard to the matter at hand. Ever since Sigel had first met Shiro, they had engaged in extensive discussions on the topic of magic, and every time Sigel was left astonished at just how gifted Shiro truly was.

What had surprised him the most was learning that the magic formulas that Shiro used were of his own devising, and thus were truly unique to him. Most Spellcasters only used previously discovered formulas. Very experienced and powerful Spellcasters might adapt existing formulas to their own purposes, but the fundamental formula still remained the same.

Shiro, however, had entirely invented his own formulas. Even if the resulting magic was the same, the formulas themselves were still different. In addition, his formulas were efficient and economical, yet just as effective as more traditional ones, if not more so. Shiro himself claimed that he was able to use standard formulas, but they were very costly due to the nature of his power, so he’d decided to invent his own instead. “It’s not particularly difficult with some imagination and creativity,” he had said, but if the average Spellcaster was capable of this, they wouldn’t be relying on existing formulas to begin with.

However, as his formulas were designed with his own special ability in mind, it was difficult for other Spellcasters to use them effectively. Shiro, on the other hand, was able to use any magic formula without a problem, and would even find issues with existing formulas and improve on them effortlessly.

This is why Sigel considered him to be a true genius.

“You amaze me, as always. This will be tremendously helpful for our research.”

“I won’t be around starting tomorrow. I’m counting on you to finish it,” Shiro responded and turned to leave the room, but Sigel stopped him

“Weiss, are you really leaving? Will you be all right?” Despite having no experience with it himself, Sigel understood that the battlefield was a dangerous place to be. Some of his own colleagues had set out for battle in the past, never to return.

Spellcasters were extremely valuable in battle. A high-level Spellcaster could very well equal a whole company in power. At the same time they had very little physical strength compared to soldiers and knights; and in close combat, for all their offensive capabilities, they might as well have been made of glass. The enemy soldiers would always target Spellcasters first, and if their Magic Within ran out, they would be totally immobilized, nothing but a burden to anyone around them. Not to mention, Spellcasters had to recite incantations before activating their spells. Shiro was no different, and during an incantation he would be a sitting duck. If the enemy seized the opportunity, even Shiro would not remain unscathed. To a Spellcaster, standing on a battlefield was courting death.

However, Shiro paid no heed to Sigel’s concern, replying matter-of-factly, “Well, I am Hersch’s Spellcaster of service.”

“But, that’s only because...”

Shiro had only become the prince’s Spellcaster of service to protect himself. He had no interest in political power himself, nor had anyone compelled him to take the position.

Sigel had also been involved in the investigations surrounding the Church’s attempted terrorist attack and knew that Shiro, as a result of human experimentation, had undergone a unique transformation. If not for his status as a prince’s Spellcaster of service, he might have become the subject of many further experiments. Having both rescued him during the terrorist attack and prevented any further harm from coming to him, Herscherik had saved his life in more than one sense.

However, at the same time, Shiro was a victim of this government, as it had turned out that the drug that had altered him was originally developed at a royal research laboratory. If not for that drug, Shiro might have been able to lead a normal life.

Sigel wondered if Shiro really had to risk his life in battle for the sake of an empty title like that. Seemingly sensing what Sigel was thinking, Shiro answered his unspoken question.

“Hersch saved me.”

“But...”

Shiro shook his head in response to Sigel’s hesitation.

“Hersch saved me from myself.”

When Shiro was overcome with despair, prepared to even cast away his humanity, Herscherik had stopped him. He had told him to never call himself a monster. Herscherik had been the first person to truly accept him.

“That’s why I belong by his side. If Hersch is departing for battle, then it would be unthinkable not to join him,” Shiro declared, with a smile beautiful enough to shake the foundations of a country.

Sigel nodded in response. As a Spellcaster of service himself, he would gladly go to war if it was for Marx’s sake—not because Marx was a prince, but because he was his junior from the academy, someone he got along with well and thought of as a younger brother. If not for that, he would never have entered his service, as tempting as the guaranteed room and board may have been.

“I understand. Please, take care. I will pray for your success,” he said, letting out a deep sigh. Holding up the documents, he continued, “You can leave this to me. I promise to bring this research to fruition.”

Shiro nodded in response, then left the room.

An exhausted Oran dragged himself through the gate to his house. These past two weeks, Oran had also been busy as Herscherik’s knight of service, dealing with matters concerning national defense, overseeing staffing, meeting with the accompanying royal guardsmen and other various leaders, looking over data from past encounters with the empire, gathering information on their current commanders, and more. He had only been able to go home once every three days, and after everyone else was already sleeping at that. In the morning he would fit in some quick sword practice, hurriedly stuff breakfast into his mouth, and then head off to the castle once again.

Having finally finished all preparations for the departure ceremony the day before, today he had been able to go home earlier than usual. Of course, it was still almost midnight when he finally headed out. He assumed that his family were already sleeping, only to find his brothers waiting for him by the door.

“What’s up, guys?”

“What do you think is up? We were waiting for our younger brother who’s nervous about his first military expedition tomorrow.” The brother closest to Oran in age—Krehl, the second son of the Aldis family—teased his confused younger brother with an endearing smile on his face. Next to him stood the eldest son Georges, as well-built as his father, who shrugged his shoulders with a resigned expression on his chiseled face.

“Well, not that I could see Octa ever being nervous.”

Oran answered his two brothers with a vague smile.

I can’t really claim that I’m completely calm... he thought, but kept it to himself. He was indeed a bit nervous; but it was just the right amount of nervousness, the kind that would help you focus just before a match.

“Mother and Father are waiting for you,” his eldest brother said, showing him inside. Oran stepped into the house and headed for the living room, where he found his father Roland and his mother Anne, as well as his little sister Lillianne looking a little sleepy.

But that was not all that was waiting for him. In front of the hearth had been placed a brand new suit of armor. The breastplate, pauldrons, and gauntlets were designed to completely cover the upper body, while knee-guards, greaves, and sturdy sabbatons protected the legs. The entire suit of armor was colored a dark, bloody crimson.

“Is this...”

“We had this made for tomorrow,” his mother replied to the stunned Oran with a gentle smile. “Octavian, compared to your father and your older brothers, you still lack physical strength. However, your dexterity more than compensates for that, and that will be your greatest weapon on the battlefield. Keeping that in mind, we had the armor made from sturdy but light material, so as not to hamper your speed. I’m so glad it was finished in time for your departure.”

Oran was surprised and confused at hearing all this from his mother, who until then had never ventured a single opinion on sword fighting or battle.

“What’s this color?” It was a deep crimson, very much like blood. He was reminded of his own white outfit, stained a dark red after the battle at the church.

“This is the color of your resolve, isn’t it?” Anne smiled knowingly—just as she had on that day.

The day they had prevented the Church’s act of terrorism, his siblings had all been speechless at the sight of him drenched in blood. Even his battled-hardened father seemed to be at a loss for words. However, his mother simply took his blood-stained uniform and directed him to the bathroom, smiling as usual all the while.

“That’s my son,” she had said just as she closed the bathroom door. At the time, Oran had assumed she was referring to his prevention of the terrorist attack. However, he now understood what she really meant. No matter how it was dressed up, in the end murder was still murder. Oran had accepted his crimes and continued on despite all of it, and this was what Anne had praised her son for.

Anne saw the look on Oran’s face and, still smiling, continued speaking.

“You have resolved to tread a thorny path with Prince Herscherik. The only thing I can do as your mother is to see you off. Continue down that path, in a manner befitting a member of the Aldis family.”

Oran nodded in response and stood before the suit of armor, which brilliantly reflected the light back in shades of red. As long as he stayed by Herscherik’s side, as long as he stood on the battlefield, this armor would probably never lose its color, he thought.

“Octavian, take this,” his father Roland said, handing him a sword. As Oran picked it up, his eyes widened in amazement. Despite this being his first time holding the weapon, it felt as natural to him as a sword that had been with him for many years. He unsheathed it to find himself reflected in the laboriously polished silver blade.

He stepped away from his family and practiced a few swings with the sword; just as he’d thought, it did not at all feel like this was his first time holding it. Oran stopped his practice swings and carefully studied the weapon as Roland started speaking again.

“This is the legendary sword that was given to the Aldis family when the title of marquis was bestowed upon us.”

“What? Really?” Oran replied, confused at hearing the words “legendary sword.” He was already aware that the Aldis family had received some kind of phenomenal weapon instead of being granted territory when they received the title of marquis. However, Oran had envisioned something very extravagant, and this sword was a far cry from that. While it was indeed beautiful, it was wholly undecorated, a practical sword made for combat. The sheath, too, was adorned with no gems or gold. It was a simple sword that would not have looked out of place in the stock of your average weapons merchant.

“This is one of the Divine Arms blessed by the goddess of war herself. It’s said this sword will never dull or break no matter how many you slay with it, and the more blood it drinks, the brighter the silver blade will shine and the sharper its edge will become.”

Oran once again fixed his gaze on the sword after hearing his father speak. The Divine Arms were, just as the name implied, weapons that had received the blessing of the goddess of war, and only ten existed in the entire world. They were said to house a mystical power distinct from Magic. Legends regarding these weapons ranged from fanciful tales of their wielder always emerging victorious from battle and enjoying endless good fortune, to horror stories of being cursed to keep fighting until you died or being forced to kill one person every day lest your soul be forfeit. There were even stories of one kingdom becoming so obsessed with the Divine Arms that they waged war on any country that possessed one.

Oran would never have guessed that one of those weapons could be found in his own house.

“Is this... real...?”

“I couldn’t tell you. But what I can tell you is that I have never polished or sharpened this sword even once in my life.” No matter how stained with blood it became, a single swing of the sword and it would always regain its luster, and its surface had never been so much as scratched.

Oran stood silent, stunned.

“Octavian, do you understand why the Aldis family was given not territory, not wealth, but this sword alone?” his father asked, turning a sharp gaze toward Oran, who did not know how to answer.

The sword was indeed a legendary treasure; however, it was not suitable as a reward. If this really was one of the Divine Arms blessed by the goddess, as his father claimed, then it was too great of a responsibility for a simple noble family.

Roland continued.

“This sword is proof of the faith this country has in the Aldis family. We protect the kingdom, the people, and our own masters as well. That’s what the Aldis family is.” The king at the time had requested the loyalty and the power of the Aldis family, and had trusted the family enough to bestow this legendary sword upon them.

“I... was unable to protect my own master,” Roland said bitterly, narrowing his eyes as he dug up old memories. He had lost the man he served to some intrigue, and in order to fulfill his master’s last wish, Roland had devoted his life to protecting the country. However, he had been unable to wield this sword since. “Don’t end up like me. Make sure to protect your master, your country, and your convictions. And come home in one piece.”

Oran closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. He then sheathed his sword, and took a knee.

“I swear.” It was a short statement, but one steeped in his resolve.

After explaining the schedule starting the following day, Oran retreated to his room, where he walked up to a desk by the window without putting on a light. He then picked up a wooden box from the top of the desk, opened it, and removed a ribbon. It was the very same ribbon, the color of his own hair, that he had been unable to give his fiancée in the past.

“This time, I swear I won’t fail.”

He held the ribbon to his chest as he spoke the name of the woman he had loved.

Kuro was preparing for the following day in his room. He was not wearing his butler’s uniform, instead being clad in simple attire. Even so, the outfit he was wearing was the same shade as his hair, proof that just as the name he had been granted by his master suggested, he did indeed like the color black.

On the top of his desk, a number of assassination tools were laid out. There were, of course, bladed weapons like knives and daggers; chemicals like gunpowder, poison, and antidotes; and finally a long, thin wire like a steel thread. He scrupulously tended each of the items in front of him.

With the wire in particular he took meticulous care. This wire looked like a single thread at a glance, but in reality it consisted of many very fine steel strands spun together to make a single wire. Each of these strands additionally had a magic formula engraved into it, causing it to extend when Magic was poured into it. This made it possible to manipulate the wire, down to its durability and sharpness, at will. It was the product of state-of-the-art research from his home country.

After finishing up by winding the wire around a special spool, Kuro let out a sigh as he massaged his own shoulders. He was always careful when it came to weapon maintenance, but today he had been especially so. Looking at the clock, he saw that it was already past midnight.

Already this late, huh... Two hours had passed since he started, and he had been so absorbed in his work that he hadn’t noticed the passage of time.

Suddenly, he heard a faint noise, and he turned his eyes toward the door the sound had come from. This was not the door that led to the corridor, but one that was connected directly to Herscherik’s room. Being Herscherik’s butler, he had been given a room adjacent to Herscherik’s to allow him to reach his master without having to go through the hallway.

Is he still awake? Herscherik had sent his men of service home, claiming that he was going to bed to ensure that he would make it in time for the ceremony that started early the next day. Kuro sighed, stood up, and walked toward Herscherik’s room. As he reached out for the door knob, however, he suddenly stopped in his tracks, turned around, and left through the door leading to the corridor instead.

In a dark room lit by nothing but the moonlight, Herscherik was sitting on a sofa by the window, hugging his knees as he absentmindedly gazed up at the night sky. In his hand was the silver pocket watch, which he would occasionally stroke with his thumb. He would then look down to observe it for a moment, only to return his gaze to the sky shortly after.

I know I have to sleep, but... Herscherik muttered in his head. The next day was the departure ceremony. After the initial ceremony, a large procession would march through the castle town, to then head straight for the border fort. As the ceremony started first thing in the morning, he had sent his men of service away early and climbed into bed.

However, despite lying in his bed with his eyes closed, and no matter how many sheep he counted, he had been unable to sleep. And so, having given up on sleeping, he was now gazing at the night sky.

“Takes you back to four years ago, doesn’t it, Klaus?” Herscherik spoke to an empty room. He had never forgotten what happened during his third birthday party—the day he had learned about the dark side of his country. Herscherik pondered what he would be doing now had he never picked up the pocket watch, and had he never met that man. Perhaps he would have enjoyed a blissful life as a royal, without a care in the world, ignorant of how he was being sheltered.

“It took four years. Four long years...” Herscherik whispered, subconsciously tightening his grip on the pocket watch.

“Hersch.” A voice could be heard in the darkness. Herscherik turned in the direction of the voice, where a shadow seemed to be moving. He knew right away who it was.

“Kuro, are you still up?”

“That’s my line,” Kuro replied, disgruntled, as he appeared from the shadows holding two mugs. “You’re the one who told us to go to bed early tonight, you know.”

Herscherik could do nothing but smile awkwardly in response.

“Here, drink this. And go to sleep already.”

Herscherik took one of Kuro’s mugs to find that it contained warm milk.

“Thank you,” he said, but just as he was about to take a sip from the mug, he froze. He was reminded of a previous time when he’d drank something offered to him. “Kuro, don’t tell me...”

“I haven’t added anything this time.” Kuro shrugged at the sight of his master glaring at him and took a sip from his own mug. Herscherik let out a small sigh in response and took a drink. He could detect a faint taste of honey as his face relaxed and he could feel tension he hadn’t even been aware of slowly dissipating.

“Seriously, what butler would drug his master?” the now relaxed Herscherik jokingly reproached Kuro.

After having stopped the Church’s terrorist attack and having said farewell to Marquis Barbosse’s daughter at her funeral, Herscherik had spent every waking moment investigating the injustices that were rampant in the country.

“I can’t rest. I have to do this. Otherwise she would have died in my stead for nothing,” Herscherik had said desperately, worrying both his siblings and his men of service. Yet he had continued, without sparing them a thought, playing an innocent and gentle prince by day and ravaging the archives of each department at night. Pushing himself to the limit in his investigation, he started sleeping so little that it looked more like he was only passing out for a moment.

Herscherik had a tendency to fall ill if he didn’t get enough sleep over a given period. Knowing this, his butler had attempted to warn him many times, but his master had refused to take heed. In the end, Kuro had taken extreme measures to force his master to get some rest—he’d spiked his tea with sleeping pills. Now, these were not the same poor-quality pills that Herscherik had been given on the occasion of his kidnapping some years ago—with the right dosage there were no side effects, and they relieved stress as they gently put you to sleep. Kuro had made good use of his contacts in order to procure only the highest quality goods.

The first day, Herscherik had simply assumed he was tired. The second day, he’d become puzzled, and on the third day he had noticed that something was wrong and started questioning his butler.

“But you refused to listen, Hersch,” Kuro quietly and coldly reprimanded Herscherik, to which the prince had no choice but to admit his mistake.

By then, he had slowly started to realize that he was pushing himself too much. He was unable to focus during morning classes, his attacks were deflected even more easily than normal during his sword training, and during horse riding practice he nearly fell right out of the saddle. So he understood why Kuro had tried to force him to rest, and regretted having made him worry.

“I’d say I’m a good fit for a master who doesn’t even even reprimand his butler for drugging him,” Kuro said with a sly smile on his face, at which Herscherik started laughing.

“It’s been three years, almost four, since we first met...” Those four years felt like they had passed by quickly in some ways, but slowly in others. If not for Kuro, Herscherik would have remained nothing more than a powerless child. The same was true of Oran, Shiro, his siblings, and everyone else who had supported him over the years. With no skills or magic or any other abilities to speak of, he would never have come this far on his own.

“Thank y—”

“Hersch, it’s too early to thank me. We’re only just getting started,” Kuro interrupted Herscherik, who nodded in response.

That’s right. We can’t forget the purpose of all the preparations we’ve made. The real fight is only just beginning.

As if to fire himself up, Herscherik gulped down the rest of his milk in one go.

An enormous number of servants decorated both sides of the throne room, giving it the appearance of a valley with a red carpet running down the center—one end by the entrance, the other by the throne. Sitting on that throne was the king, Solye, and by his side stood the minister, Barbosse. Amidst the murmuring of the servants, a voice announced the entrance of the central figure of the day, and all eyes turned toward the doors.

The doors opened slowly, almost as if to prolong the moment, and a small figure appeared. Wearing a dark violet military uniform with gold embroidery, a royal red mantle fluttering behind him, the kingdom’s youngest prince, Herscherik, majestically made his way down the carpet. His men of service followed behind him, his light golden hair swaying as he walked; he fixed his eyes, the same emerald color as his father’s, straight ahead.

Herscherik’s face was devoid of his usually sunny smile, and his mouth was now set in a line. He stepped firmly as he walked down the red carpet, stopping as he reached the throne; there he kneeled, one hand on his chest, as he bowed his head before his father. His men of service followed their master’s example.

Solye stood up and nodded, took from the minister a golden grand marshal’s staff, made to match Herscherik’s height, and handed it to his son.

“Herscherik Gracis. I hereby declare thee my proxy, and bestow upon thee this staff. Thou shalt command an army, twenty thousand strong, to drive away the forces that threaten our land.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Herscherik looked up in response to his father’s ceremonious voice. He then stood, accepted the grand marshal’s staff, and looked at Solye. He smiled for a moment, attempting to offer some comfort to his pale and distraught father, before once again putting a solemn expression on his face.

“For the sake of Your Majesty, for the sake of the people, and above all for the sake of Gracis, my fatherland, I swear to ward off the enemy without fail.”

After he finished speaking, Herscherik bowed once, his mantle fluttering, before turning around and leaving the way he came. His men of service followed after him. With them in tow, he then headed straight from the throne room to the front gate. He walked through a pair of open doors, and an army of soldiers waiting in formation came into view.

At the very front stood two generals, the commanding officers of this expedition. One was Teodor Seghin, a noble with the rank of viscount. The other was Heath Blaydes, a mercenary-turned-general. Both men took a deep bow as Herscherik appeared, at which all other soldiers and knights also bowed in perfect unison.

Herscherik raised the grand marshal’s staff, and raised his voice.

“Soldiers, march!”

The moment he spoke, the band commenced its performance, the two generals mounted their horses, and the procession of soldiers started moving. Herscherik himself boarded a carriage prepared for the departure ceremony. The carriage had no roof nor sides and was higher off the ground than a normal carriage. If an adult man were to ride it, only his knees and above would be visible to the people on the streets. Herscherik, being a child—and shorter than average at that—stood atop a riser that had been placed on the carriage for him. Shiro boarded the carriage along with him, taking his place behind Herscherik. Kuro was to serve as the coachman, while Oran rode a horse of his own.

With the preparations in place, all that was left was to wait for the carriage to begin moving. Herscherik took a deep breath.

It finally begins... The day had finally come. He had known it would come sooner or later. It was the day when the people of the castle town, whom he had grown so close to, would learn the truth.

The carriage started moving, and Herscherik stood firmly on his riser, trying to avoid an unsightly fall. As they advanced, the voices of the townspeople could be heard, and the end of Herscherik’s days in the castle town as Ryoko came nearer.

Herscherik closed his eyes as the carriage proceeded, opening them again just as they passed through the castle gate into town. He saw a clear blue sky, fluttering flags showing a brightly colored sunburst, the marching soldiers, as well as the waving townspeople. In the crowd of citizens who had come to see the soldiers off, Herscherik spotted the couple from the candy store who would always share some of their wares with him. They had opened their eyes wide in shock at the sight. And they weren’t the only ones—as the prince advanced down the street, the voices of the townspeople turned from excited cheering to confusion as they recognized him.

Keeping his face turned straight ahead while still letting his gaze wander, he noticed Louise being held up by her husband. Among the children from the orphanage who had come to watch, he also saw Vivi, Colette, as well as an angry-looking Rick. Everyone who knew Ryoko had a bewildered look on their faces.

No, this won’t do. Herscherik couldn’t make them worry. A royal must never be responsible for making the people worry. To the people, the royal family was the face of their country.

Herscherik lifted his head and put on his usual sunny smile. Even if they came to hate him for deceiving them or abandoned him in disgust, as a prince of this country, he still wanted to protect them. That was his own wish, as well as his duty.

So smile. Smile. Smile.

Smile so that their worry will vanish. Smile so that they know everything is all right. Smile so that they have hope for the future.

After all, that is what he himself wished for.

Thus began Herscherik’s first military campaign, one which would one day come to be referred to as the first chapter of the Kingdom in Turmoil.