Chapter Three: The Expedition, the New Recruit, and the Midnight Practice

Three days had passed since the expedition left the capital, and the royal army was steadily advancing toward the border fort. Occasionally they would encounter monsters on the way, but each time the army of twenty thousand defeated them as effortlessly as brushing dirt off their clothes. The horses and carriages would follow the paved roads during the day and set up camp at night, all the while advancing on schedule.

Herscherik had prior experience with carriages from his visit to what was now Count Grim’s territory. Back then they had traveled slowly out of consideration for Herscherik, though he had still come down with a rather serious case of motion sickness. This time, however, as the goal of the expedition was to reinforce the border fort as soon as possible, they had spared no thought for Herscherik and proceeded at a normal pace. As a result, Herscherik was now suffering through an even worse nightmare than last time.

“Are you still alive...?” Shiro, picturesque even when doing nothing but simply sitting still, said to Herscherik—currently buried in a pile of pillows.

Herscherik only waved his hand in response, his face so pale that he looked as though his soul might exit his body at any moment. No trace remained of the dignified aura he had exuded during the departure ceremony. Shiro frowned, unable to tell whether his waving meant that he was fine or not.

Herscherik and Shiro were currently riding in a carriage reserved for the royal family. Kuro served as its coachman, while Oran was riding his own horse right next to them.

“Ugh... If only it was possible to teleport there instantly...” Herscherik groaned feebly. He had been prone to motion sickness even in his previous life, a disposition that inexplicably had stayed with him even after reincarnating into a new body. Complaining internally about how unfair life was, he thought about how if he could have access to but one of the items belonging to a certain blue cat robot from the future from a certain cartoon, he would, without hesitation, choose the door that let you go anywhere instantly.

“Well, it’s not necessarily impossible...”

“What? Is that true, Shiro?!” Herscherik suddenly sprung up and closed in on Shiro. This was a fantasy world where magic existed, after all. Perhaps there was some incredible artifact that could do just that, Herscherik mused, as the very thought made his heart race. With a disappointed look on his face, Shiro replied to the expectant Herscherik.

“Space linking... It’s an Ancient form of magic that has been lost to time.”

“Space linking?” a confused Herscherik asked, as Shiro continued explaining, now totally in professor mode.

“Yes, it’s just what it sounds like. Magic that links together two spaces, or rather, two locations. Remember how I explained that there are three branches of magic?”

Herscherik nodded.

“Elemental magic, Divine magic, and Manipulation magic, right?”

“Correct. However, that is simply how we humans categorize the magic that we’re able to use. The various peoples of the world have different names for them, and the types of magic they can use differ as well. There is magic that only beastmen and demihumans can wield, as well as magic that cannot be easily categorized.”

Herscherik corrected his posture, as if he was listening to one of Shiro’s lessons. He was so absorbed in what Shiro had to say that he completely forgot everything about the motion sickness that had been tormenting him until now.

“Currently, we collectively refer to all the magic of the Ancient era—magic straight out of fairy tales, whose principles and formulas are yet to be understood—as ‘Ancient Magic.’”

“Huh, is that so?”

“That went right out the other ear, didn’t it?” Shiro chastised Herscherik, who replied awkwardly.

“I mean, I can’t use magic to begin with, so I don’t really understand any kind of magic...”

“Well, I suppose that’s true...” Shiro understood where Herscherik was coming from. To Herscherik, who possessed no Magic Within, even Shiro himself must have seemed like a being out of a fairy tale. “Elemental magic converts Magic from one form to another. Manipulation magic manipulates Magic itself. However, the process of linking two locations neither converts Magic nor does it manipulate it. Instead, it interferes with space itself using Magic.”

“I... see...?” Herscherik replied, still confused. However, Shiro was now in nerd mode, paying no heed to the fact that he had already lost Herscherik, as he continued speaking.

“It’s a kind of spellcasting that affects space, something that has no physical form and cannot be seen. The fact that they were able to wield this kind of magic speaks volumes as to how powerful the people of the Ancient era were, and how advanced their magical research was.”

“Well, I don’t really get what you’re saying, but I do get that it’s incredible enough to get you excited,” Herscherik said, perfectly serious, causing Shiro to deliver a swift chop to the top of his head.

“Violence is bad!”

“I don’t care.”

Herscherik rubbed his head where Shiro had hit him, dejected from having his remark brushed aside so casually, when he suddenly realized something.

“But wait, Shiro—there are magical items that can transmit voices, right? How do they work, then?” The objects Herscherik had mentioned were magical items that served a similar purpose to the cell phones of Herscherik’s previous life, although their actual function was more akin to walkie-talkies. You could only communicate with another item that you had paired it with in advance, and you needed to be a relatively competent Spellcaster to use it in the first place. But if you could communicate with someone using an item like that, it meant the two of you were linked somehow, Herscherik thought. How exactly did it transmit the voices, then?

Shiro smiled knowingly at Herscherik’s question.

“Yes, those items are made by imitating Ancient relics. They do indeed interfere with space to transmit the voices.”

“What? So, that interference magic you mentioned—it’s not impossible after all?”

Shiro nodded in response to Herscherik’s excitement, but sighed as he continued with a disappointed tone in his voice.

“However, even simply transmitting voices requires a great deal of Magic. In addition, the formulas to specify the coordinates and direction are rather complicated. If you wanted to transport a whole body using that kind of space linking magic, I can’t even imagine how many magical formulas you would have to devise. You’d probably need something on the scale of a Magic circle, at least.”

“I see... That’s too bad.” If even a prodigy like Shiro thought it too difficult, it truly must be so. Herscherik gave up on the idea.

However, Shiro then asked Herscherik a question.

“Would you like it if space linking magic existed, Hersch?”

“Well... I’d be pretty happy if it did, considering how easily I get sick in carriages,” Herscherik replied sincerely. In response, Shiro nodded, picked up some paper, and started scribbling with his fountain pen.

“Shiro?” Herscherik asked, wondering what Shiro was doing

“I’ve had an interest in this topic for a while,” Shiro responded. “And if I can get some practical use out of the attempt, there’s no harm in trying,” he added with a frown, as if trying to hide his embarrassment. Herscherik smiled, secretly both surprised and happy at Shiro’s rare display of awkward affection.

“Thank you, Shiro.”

“It’s not like... I just said I was interested in it myself, didn’t I?”

Herscherik worried that Shiro, now blushing slightly, might get motion sick from all the writing as he turned his gaze toward the window and observed the view outside. He saw Oran riding on his horse beside them and waved his hand. Noticing Herscherik, Oran waved back.

Herscherik then moved his gaze toward the front, where he saw a large number of soldiers riding carriages and knights mounted on their horses. The view behind him was much the same. Herscherik was located in the center of the procession; the army was divided into two divisions, with Herscherik right in between them. The front division was led by General Teodor Seghin and the back division by General Heath Blaydes.

Herscherik, being royalty and the king’s proxy, held supreme command of the army on paper. However, in practice, the supreme commander in battle was Viscount Seghin. The reason it was Teodor and not Heath, who was also a general, was that Heath was a commoner and a former mercenary.

While grappling with his slowly returning motion sickness, Herscherik thought back to the meeting he’d attended prior to their departure. The two generals he had met there could not have been more different from each other.

There were two ways to become a general. One was through skill and experience—as proven through battle, defeating monsters, or doing well in the Games of Contest. The other was, to put it bluntly, networking. While you still needed some amount of skill and military expertise, your rank as a noble and your connections meant much more. With the right connections, you could make it to general through the support of the higher-ups at National Defense.

Teodor Seghin belonged to the latter category; he had an air about him that seemed to scream nobility, and belonged to the latter category. He was neither terrible nor exemplary as a general, but he had a tendency to prioritize himself over others. He cared little for the lives of his soldiers if it meant he could distinguish himself by winning a battle, and would sacrifice towns and villages for the sake of victory. However, those sacrifices had indeed gotten results. Incidentally, he held the rank of viscount and was thirty-nine years of age.

Heath Blaydes, on the other hand, was a former mercenary who had risen through the ranks almost purely through his own skill and achievements, before ending up as a general, for better or worse. He always tried to minimize casualties during battle and cared little for his own prestige. He always seemed listless and unmotivated, but his soldiers placed great faith in him, and there were even many who would request to be reassigned to his command specifically. He was also excellent at predicting the enemy’s movements and making decisions—or so Oran had heard from Roland.

“Heath is one of Father’s victims—I mean, former subordinates, so they know each other,” Oran had said in a slightly vexed tone. Apparently Heath had usually been the one to clean up after Oran’s father. While Roland was busy rampaging, Heath would manage the soldiers and command them during operations.

Of course, Roland was more than capable of commanding the soldiers himself. However, ever since acquiring Heath as a subordinate, Roland had more or less left him in charge of the whole army as a welcoming gift—though Heath himself had considered that an outrageous request. While the whole situation was a travesty as far as Heath was concerned, to those around him it had been a stroke of good luck, as he actually possessed the skill needed to pull off the general’s outrageous requests. And not only was he good at making quick decisions, he was also more than a match for Roland himself in combat. The ax he wielded mowed down enemies in equal numbers to the Blazing General.

“While he’s not very pleased about it, he was the only worthy successor to my father,” Oran added. He himself had been trained in the sword by Heath.

Herscherik quietly wondered if it really made sense for a general like Roland to go rampaging by himself like that as he thought back to the first time he’d met Heath. The general was almost the same age as Herscherik had been in his previous life. His first impression of him had been less that of an officer and more of a common mercenary.

“Well, good to have you with us, I suppose,” he had greeted Herscherik casually, immediately drawing a blow from his adjutant—which took Herscherik by surprise. Watching Heath as his adjutant ruffled his evenly cut, blue-gray hair, it was difficult to tell who was actually in charge.

Suddenly, the carriage stopped. Herscherik removed his pocket watch from his breast pocket to find that it was already past four in the afternoon.

“I guess that’s it for today’s marching.”

The march was expected to take a total of two weeks. Assuming nothing unexpected happened, they would arrive at the fort right on schedule.

If all goes according to plan, that is... Herscherik muttered internally.

Having finished setting up camp, the soldiers who weren’t currently on patrol were enjoying some leisure time. One of them—a nervous young man with chestnut-colored hair carrying a tray holding vegetable soup, hard bread, and a red fruit—came up to Herscherik and bowed.

“I-I have brought Y-Your Highness’s meal for the e-eveding!” he said, his cheeks burning red out of embarrassment after fumbling the last word. Even after straightening his back again, he was unable to look the prince in the eye, instead staring down at the ground as he presented the tray.

This particular soldier’s name was Roy Bildt, the eldest son of a poor merchant, a boy soldier who had just enlisted in the army this spring. Young boys who had not yet come of age were still allowed to enlist in the army as boy soldiers, in order to learn the ways of the military. Their main duties consisted of training and maintaining weapons and armor, as well as looking after the older knights. Once they came of age, they would become ordinary soldiers.

Roy had decided to join the army instead of taking over the family business for one simple reason—money. It’s said children are a poor man’s riches, and Roy had four younger siblings. However, his poor merchant father struggled to improve his revenue, while his expenses only increased with rising taxes and costs of goods. His parents worked as hard as they could, but they still struggled to feed a family of seven.

And so, Roy enlisted. As a soldier, he received a regular salary, and he was also exempt from paying certain taxes. Living in the barracks, he himself had all the food he needed, and his daily necessities were provided for as well. Thus, he could afford to support his family, who would be able to lead a modest life on Roy’s salary and his parents’ income.

Work as a boy soldier was tough, but there were some good things that came with it too. Roy was fond of reading books, but as a boy soldier he did not have permission to enter the royal library. Even regular soldiers had to request permission, and as he was sending his entire salary back home, he had given up on the idea of buying books, too.

However, by pure coincidence he became friends with a librarian who worked at the royal library. When Roy mentioned that he enjoyed books but was too poor to buy any, the librarian volunteered to borrow books from the library under his own name and lend them to Roy.

As Roy bowed repeatedly in gratitude, the librarian smiled and said, “Don’t worry about it. I’ve been a bookworm ever since I was a boy, so I understand what you’re going through. Oh, but since they’re borrowed in my name, do make sure not to get them dirty.”

Roy only learned later that the man was himself a commoner who had joined the academy on a scholarship and graduated at the top of his class. He was now working as a librarian—and was famous for being uptight about the handling of books.

After a long day of training and work, a bit of reading before bed was the one thing that the exhausted Roy had to look forward to.

Roy had a dream—he wanted to become an author. Though poor, he was still the son of a merchant, and he had learned how to read and write when he was very young. He wished to one day travel the world and compile his experiences into a book—that was his grand and idealistic dream.

However, reality had not been not so kind to Roy. Money was more important than his vision, and food more important than books. So Roy let that dream remain a dream and enlisted in the army, which ultimately resulted in his participation in the expedition at hand. His job during the march was not very different from his work in the capital: weapon maintenance, caring for the horses, preparing the meals, and other menial tasks. However, one particularly important item was suddenly added to his list of duties.

“Vegetable soup?” The Seventh Prince’s butler took the tray from Roy, muttering in a somewhat grumpy voice. His eyes, a dark ruby color like that of blood, examined the soup suspiciously—though Roy was unable to tell that, with his glance still fixed on the ground. That moment quickly passed, however, as Kuro soon thanked Roy and turned around. “Thank you. You are excused.”

Roy raised his head and looked in the direction the butler was walking, where a small child sat by a campfire. The little boy reached out to take a tray from the butler.

So that’s Prince Herscherik... He really is just a child. I think he might be thinner than my brother. He had only ever watched the prince from a distance, but he looked even smaller than one of Roy’s younger brothers, despite being ostensibly the same age. He was clad in first-class clothing, but he seemed so delicate that Roy wondered if he might not break if touched.

Roy’s heart ached at the thought of a prince the same age as one of his brothers having to march off to battle. Roy had chosen to become a soldier, but the little prince had never even been given a choice about any of this.

“What is it?”

Roy jumped at hearing a sudden voice behind him. When he turned around, there stood a knight with sunset-colored hair who was looking curiously at him. Roy knew who this man was, with his distinctive hair color and his somewhat downturned blue eyes. On the march he wore deep crimson armor, making him stand out amongst the other soldiers, but now he was wearing a simple outfit made from black cloth.

This is the Vanquisher of a Hundred Zealots?! He was the third son of the so-called “Blazing General” Roland Aldis, and he had recently become famous for having prevented an uprising by the Church—slaying a hundred maddened templars without suffering so much as a single scratch in the process. He was also well-known among the army and the constabulary for having been the youngest person to take first place in a fighting competition, and for taking on many a soldier and knight with ease during his later training sessions. Not a single person his age in the entire kingdom could stand up to him, or so Roy had heard the soldiers say. Based on these stories, Roy had envisioned someone large and bulky, but to his astonishment the young man before him could very well be described as slender. Standing beside the prince during the departure ceremony, he had seemed like a young hero straight out of a fairy tale.

Roy hurriedly bowed to the knight.

“I-I’m sorry! I was delivering food to His Highness...”

“Oh, I see. Hersch—Uh, Prince Herscherik did insist on having the same food as everyone else. Sorry for the trouble.” Oran accidentally called Herscherik by his usual nickname, but quickly corrected himself.

It had all started when Herscherik had refused to be the only one eating luxurious meals. “We’re all marching together, so it makes no sense that I’m the only one eating like this.”

On the march, meals tended to be modest out of necessity. On a good day soup might be served; most meals consisted of a slice of bread and some dried meat. However, royals and nobles would generally be served different food. Herscherik would not stand for this, and while Kuro would complain about Herscherik not getting the nutrition he needed, in the end the butler gave up and let Herscherik eat the same food as the soldiers. As an unintended side effect, the higher-ups had said to at least include soup with every meal since the prince would be eating it, which made the soldiers happy.

“Did you do this so they’d be forced to improve the food they serve to soldiers?” Oran had asked before they departed, to which Herscherik had smiled like a mischievous child.

Oran looked toward his master, who noticed his gaze and waved in response. Beside him, his Spellcaster was reading a book; his butler was the only one on the move, elegantly preparing drinks, peeling fruits, and otherwise tending to his master.

“Well, I’ll be heading back. Are you one of the boy soldiers? Let me know if you ever need anything.”

“S-Sir Aldis!” Roy shouted, his voice cracking, as Oran was attempting to leave. He knew that Oran’s offer was simply common courtesy. However, at the sight of Oran’s gentle expression, Roy could not help but want to rely on him.

“Hm?”

“If you would listen to one of my requests, please teach me how to fight!”

Oran looked puzzled in response to Roy’s request. “How to fight? You’re already learning how to handle weapons in the army, aren’t you? And I may have the fundamentals down, but a lot of my fighting style I cobbled together myself, so I don’t think I’ll be of much help to you.”

Roy had once heard something similar from an instructor so tough that “tough” didn’t come close to describing him. “He can use both the methodical fighting style of a knight and the crude tactics of a mercenary. It’s not just hard work—he’s an absolute natural. Ordinary people couldn’t hope to imitate him,” the instructor had said. Oran himself worked more on instinct than anything else when fighting, so he couldn’t teach anyone even if he wanted.

However, Roy refused to back down. He couldn’t waste this opportunity.

“I know I’m weak... But I can’t die here!” Roy had had a nagging feeling that perhaps he wasn’t cut out to be a soldier. He couldn’t handle weapons well, and was always getting berated by the instructor during training. Even among the boy soldiers who enlisted at the same time as him, he was by far the least impressive.

“So why did you join the army, then?” Oran asked with a voice somewhat quieter than before, making Roy tremble for a moment. “If you join the army, you’ll inevitably be putting your life at risk.”

“That’s...” Roy suppressed the urge to turn his gaze downward, straightened his back and looked Oran right in the eyes. “I wanted to help my family. That’s why I have to make it back home alive.”

Boy soldiers had little risk of being sent to the front lines, but it was not completely out of the question. Were he to be sent there, he needed to make sure that he would make it back alive. And while his family would receive some compensation in the event that he died, it would be nothing in comparison to the salary and tax exemptions that Roy had enjoyed so far. His family would starve.

His eyes filled with determination, Roy held Oran’s gaze. In response, Oran softened his stern expression and sighed.

“All right, fine. But just remember, all I can teach you is the fundamentals, so don’t get your hopes up too high.”

“Thank you so much!” Roy bowed deeply in gratitude.

Once all his work was finished, Roy headed for the location Oran had designated, leaving the camp and entering the nearby forest. As he walked, he heard a wolf howl somewhere far away, momentarily paralyzing him with fear—but even so, he walked on resolutely. After all, the man of the hour, the Seventh Prince’s knight of service, was waiting to instruct him.

He exited the forest into a clearing. There he found a small hill, covered in nearly knee-high grass that danced in the wind. Roy had never seen the real thing himself, but the sight reminded him of the sea waves he had seen in a picture book he had been forced to sell long ago.

As he climbed the hill, he found a small child sitting on a boulder. His pale golden hair swayed in the night wind, lit up by the moonlight, and his features were so delicate that he could have been mistaken for a girl. His emerald eyes gazed up at the stars peeking out from between the clouds. He looked like a fairy out of a folktale, but at the same time his beauty was yet immature. Roy was left speechless by the sight.

So this is Prince Herscherik... He was the young prince who had accompanied the expedition as the king’s proxy. Roy had heard that every member of the royal family was beautiful, but as an underling who had never even seen the National Defense-affiliated crown prince up close, he’d assumed the rumors were exaggerated. However, faced with the truth, Roy suddenly felt an urge to punch his past self.

“Who are you?” a curious Herscherik asked Roy, who was still at a loss for words. Roy quickly returned to his senses, but started to panic at the same time. He could never admit to having been captivated by the prince’s appearance, and he would have had nothing to say in his defense if he was accused of disrespecting royalty with his open staring.

As Roy tried his hardest to figure out what to do next, he was saved by a sudden voice.

“Your Highness, this is Roy. I told you about him.”

“Oh, he’s the one!” Herscherik nodded at his knight of service who had just appeared from the top of the hill, jumped down from the boulder, and walked up to Roy.

“Hello! I am Herscherik Gracis.” Herscherik greeted Roy with a smile. Roy was captivated once again for a moment before hurriedly attempting to kneel before the prince, but in his nervousness he stumbled and ended up falling forward instead. He quickly threw his hands out to catch himself, but it ended up looking more like he was grovelling. Roy could feel his face turned red from embarrassment.

“Are you okay?” Roy heard a voice above his head say, but he was unable to look up. Suddenly, he felt someone grab hold of his arm and drag him to his feet. It was of course none other than Oran.

“You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?” Oran asked, inspecting Roy from head to toe. After confirming that nothing seemed wrong with him, he let out a sigh of relief and released his grip. “Yeah, you look fine.”

“I-I-I-I-I’m really sorry!” Roy frantically tried to apologize, bowing so deeply that he was bent in a right angle at the waist, staring down at the ground. “Prince Herscherik, I sincerely apologize for what just happened!”

In response, an awkward-sounding voice could be heard, but Roy was too nervous to make it out.

“It’s fine. I’m sorry for scaring you. And I’m also sorry for barging in on your meeting with Oran. Please, raise your head.”

Roy slowly and timidly raised his head as instructed, and once he had done so, Herscherik continued apologetically.

“Roy, would you mind if I joined you for your practice session?”

Roy had neither the reason nor the will to turn him down. Looking around, he caught sight of a beautiful girl devoting herself to reading while conjuring a light in one hand. Noticing where Roy was looking, Herscherik explained that this person was in fact Herscherik’s Spellcaster of service.

“He has put up a barrier around this area. No beasts or monsters will be able to approach, so it’s safe here.”

Herscherik and Roy then lined up and commenced their training. Oran gave each of them personalized advice. The two of them would listen closely, swing their swords, and then receive further instruction. However...

“Your Highness, your stance is awful.” Oran avoided his usual nickname for Herscherik around Roy, but as his instructor he also showed no restraint in pointing out Herscherik’s flaws. Roy was taken aback at just how blunt Oran was being, but Herscherik himself seemed unfazed and simply nodded.

“Got it,” Herscherik responded. He adjusted his posture and swung his sword again, only to once again receive a warning from Oran, who put his hands on Herscherik’s arm and hip to correct him.

“No, you’re not getting it. See, your stance is poor because you’re hunched over, and that’s why your attacks are unsteady.”

“Hmm, hmm... Mhm?” Herscherik groaned as he swung his sword again, but it was no better than before. Oran was reminded of something that Herscherik’s current and his own former sword instructor—famous as a real “hard-ass” of a teacher—had once said.

“Prince Herscherik is certainly determined enough, and I can’t say he doesn’t put in the work. But he’s just...” Even this legendarily hard-ass instructor, said to be able to turn even the most timid foot soldier into a real man, was unable to finish his sentence, and let out a sad, feeble laugh. Oran himself had started to feel sorry for Herscherik when he first saw him practice in person.

He just has no talent whatsoever. All the hard work in the world couldn’t make up for that lack. Herscherik himself seemed to realize this, but he still stubbornly continued his training, insisting that it was better than doing nothing. However, lately—starting sometime around spring—he had been putting even more effort than before into his sword practice, even to the point of recklessness. Oran had an idea as to why.

Herscherik had almost lost his life in a brief moment of carelessness during the incident at the church. If not for her, the prince would not have been here today. And so, Herscherik had started to put even more effort into his swordsmanship, practicing every spare moment he had. Oran had chosen to simply watch over the prince as he desperately flailed about with his blade.

Oran could tell what was going through Herscherik’s mind as he devoted himself to his training. If only he had the power to protect himself, then she wouldn’t have had to lose her life. Oran saw his past self in the prince’s feeling of powerlessness, a feeling that even now nagged at him deep within his chest.

The butler had not been very enthusiastic about it, but Oran saw no problem with Herscherik holding a sword. He believed that a sword could grant you not only physical strength, but mental strength as well. Thus, he hardened his heart as he instructed Herscherik.

“Just look at Roy. His posture has improved significantly compared to what it was like earlier, and as a result his swings are a lot more stable,” Oran explained to Herscherik, who turned to observe Roy. Feeling Herscherik’s gaze on him, Roy grew nervous.

“That’s not true!” However, Roy’s words failed to reach Herscherik, who was intently staring at his own practice sword as he let out a frustrated groan.

The two of them continued their practice, switching from working on their form to sparring, and just when the two of them were barely able to hold their swords anymore, a man silently emerged from the darkness of the forest. This man was none other than Herscherik’s butler, Kuro, who was carrying a number of canteens.

“Well, with the black dog here, I guess now’s as good a time for a break as any.”

As Roy sat down on a nearby boulder, he could feel both his arms and legs trembling from the effort of holding the sword and maintaining his posture.

“Do you mind if I sit next to you?” Herscherik asked Roy, who was staring down at his trembling hands. Looking up at the prince, who had a few drops of sweat visible on his forehead, Roy hesitated for a moment. His legs, however, were trembling far too much for him to even think of making an escape, so he simply nodded and made room for the prince.

“Here you are, Prince Hersch. And you too, young man.” Kuro had sneaked up on them without so much as a sound, and smiled pleasantly as he handed the two of them canteens. Herscherik thanked Kuro, and Roy did the same as he hesitantly accepted the canteen.

“Hey, black dog, could you give me one of tho—Hey, don’t throw it!”

“Shut up,” the butler said, still smiling, at which the knight voiced his discontent.

With the arguing of his two men of service as background noise, Herscherik removed the lid of the canteen, held it up to his mouth, and poured its contents down his throat. He closed his eyes as a pleasant breeze caressed his cheeks, when Roy started speaking to him.

“Um... How come Your Highness is practicing the sword?” Roy asked, unaware that members of the royal family received an extensive education from a very young age, with private tutors covering subjects as varied as science, combat, dancing, and music. Herscherik was still too young to even attend the academy. Roy could not understand why a child of Herscherik’s age would be practicing the sword with such fervor.

Herscherik replied dejectedly.

“I want to at least get to the point where I can protect myself... But even though I’ve been practicing my whole life, I still haven’t gotten much better. What about you?”

“I... want to return home alive, as pathetic as that might seem,” Roy responded after a moment’s hesitation, scratching his cheek. It was a spineless reason for someone in the army. If the older soldiers had heard his words, they would surely have either ridiculed him or gotten angry.

However, Herscherik did no such thing.

“I don’t think that’s pathetic at all,” he said earnestly. “It’s important to stay alive. I think it’s great that you’re working hard to do so.”

“Great? Me? Not at all...” Roy replied, blushing. That was the first time someone had ever complimented him like that.

“Besides, if you die, it’s all over,” Herscherik whispered, looking down with a pained expression. He seemed as if he would start crying at any moment.

“Your Highness?” Roy was bewildered at the prince’s sudden change of mood, but before he could say anything further, Oran approached them.

“Okay then, let’s give it one more go from the top before calling it a day.”

Roy was unable to utter the question that was stuck in his throat.

This was the first meeting between the Seventh Prince and the author Roy Bildt, who would go on to pen many a book featuring tales of Herscherik and his accomplishments.

Roy Bildt would later write about their first encounter.

I now believe that it was the god of fate who brought the prince and myself together, in order to record his feats for later generations. That is why I met him, and the reason for which I was born.

— From the opening chapter of The Life of Herscherik Gracis, by Roy Bildt.