Chapter Seven: The Imperial Noble, the Deal, and the Urgent Report

A week had passed since the royal army of Gracis had defeated the Atrad empire. Ever since the battle had concluded, Herscherik had been confined to his bed—in that moment he had collapsed as if all the tension in his body had left him in one go. Due to a combination of fatigue and the injury to his left arm, Herscherik had come down with a high fever for three days, barely conscious the entire time.

However, this was already a thing of the past.

“Kuro, won’t you let me get out of bed already?” Herscherik sat up in his bed, leaning back against a pillow as he pleaded with his butler of service, who had kept close watch over him, almost like a guard—no, not just like a guard. His butler had in fact been literally on guard to ensure that his master never left the room. He had even moved his own desk and chair into the room so he could do paperwork in the meantime.

“Not a chance,” the butler replied without hesitation, and no wonder—the very next day after Herscherik’s fever had gone down, he had escaped to explore the fort the moment Kuro turned his back, only to be dragged back to bed by the furious butler.

“But I’m totally fine now! I don’t have a fever anymore, and my arm doesn’t hurt at all. See?” Herscherik brought out his childish charm, tilting his head in a cute manner as he put on his best puppy dog eyes. Most people would have fallen for his pleading, as he utilized his royal beauty to the fullest, but not Kuro.

“Not happening.” The butler rejected his every request without changing expression in the slightest, and without his fountain pen pausing as it moved across his paperwork.

“I’m bored... I’m so bored I could die!”

Herscherik liked to sleep, but when told to sleep he would instead get an urge to move around. Kuro stared at his contrarian master.

“You’ll just get yourself in trouble. What were you even thinking, trying to escape to the fort all by yourself?”

“But the people from the mercenary guild escorted me part of the way, and Roy was with me too... How many times are you going to bring this up? Kuro, you’re being a bit...” Herscherik hurriedly stopped himself before he could finish the sentence with “annoying,” as he noticed Kuro glaring at him. He quietly sighed to himself.

The original plan had been to meet up with Kuro in the small village he had first discovered after drifting down the river, and then join the expedition that was pretending to have been annihilated. However, after hearing Roy’s story, Herscherik had concluded that someone in the fort must have been colluding with the enemy. As a result, he changed his plans and set off to the fort to smoke the traitor out. Fortunately, in case of an emergency he had previously requested that the mercenary guild station some of their members near the villages that were liable to be attacked by the empire. The mercenaries had escorted him to a location close to the fort, after which he and Roy had waited until dark to travel the rest of the way.

The handkerchief that Herscherik had tied to the fence before leaving the village had been a signal that he and Kuro had agreed upon beforehand. A bow meant “colluder in the fort.” In such an event, Kuro was to infiltrate the fort and prioritize seizing any evidence, while Herscherik would travel alone. It would be difficult to put into words just what emotions went through Kuro’s head when he saw the handkerchief. A master knows not the suffering of his servants.

Suppressing his surging frustration, the butler, often likened to a faithful dog by his knight comrade, quickly grasped his master’s intentions and set off to do his part. He reconvened with the expedition to explain the plan before setting off to the fort alone on horseback, infiltrating it disguised as a wounded soldier. He then leaked false information and collected any evidence he could find.

“Shut up and lie down.”

“Fine...”

Herscherik gave up on getting out of bed and buried himself under the pillow behind him. Kuro frowned at the sound of his master’s unsatisfied voice, but Herscherik ignored him.

“Oh yeah, where’s Shiro?”

“He’s cooped himself up in the library.”

Not only was Shiro as much of a bookworm as Herscherik himself, if not more, he had not been assigned any specific task, unlike Kuro and Oran, who was patrolling the area. As a result he had practically as much free time as he wanted, so it was no surprise that he would happily spend his days in the library. There was one problem, however.

“Is Shiro okay to be off on his own?”

Leaving Shiro alone was dangerous for multiple reasons. Blessed with the looks of a goddess of beauty, the soldiers, exuberant after their victory, might go after him. No one had approached him during the march, as Herscherik and Oran had always been with him, though any time he had stepped off the carriage he had been exposed to curious glances from all directions, putting him in a constant bad mood.

Incidentally, the biggest danger involved wasn’t the soldiers, but Shiro himself. If he lost his temper and mercilessly fired off a spell like he had in the castle, the entire fort might be reduced to rubble, regardless of whether they had defeated the imperial forces or not. Herscherik was of course worried about Shiro too, but comparing any harm to Shiro with the potential harm Shiro could inflict on his surroundings, it was clear who was in more danger.

As Herscherik was worried about more than one thing, Kuro answered nonchalantly.

“He’s already sent a few people flying in the days he’s been here, so no one dares to approach him anymore. It’s fine.”

Herscherik wondered if that could actually be considered fine, and why Kuro didn’t do anything to stop him, as he glared back at the nonchalant butler.

After lunch, Shiro—who hadn’t sent anyone flying today—returned to Herscherik’s room. He handed a book he had borrowed from the library to the prince, who immediately went into bookworm mode just like Shiro. Soon after, Oran came back from patrol, taking over from Kuro who’d gone to submit the finished paperwork.

“I’m back. Hersch, how are you feeling?”

Herscherik felt both ashamed of his weakness and glad of Oran’s concern. He smiled awkwardly in an attempt to hide his embarrassment.

“Welcome back, Oran. As you can see, I’m doing well enough to be bored out of my mind. So, how was the patrol?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary. The imperial army is laying low, and there were no deserters. We might get some opportunistic night raids, but we have mercenaries stationed in the villages for protection, so everything should be fine.”

Herscherik breathed a sigh of relief. His biggest fear had been something happening to the surrounding area. He had been worried that perhaps deserters from the imperial army or burglars would attack the nearby villages. They’d been unable to send soldiers out on patrol, as the army of ten thousand including Heath were preoccupied with keeping an eye on the nearly one hundred thousand imperial soldiers that had been taken captive. Instead, Herscherik had sent out his own royal guards to scout the area. In addition, the mercenaries had volunteered as bodyguards until the imperial army had left, allowing the nearby villagers to go about their lives in peace.

They had also issued a stern warning to the imperial army—delivered by Oran, whom the imperial soldiers were terrified of after he’d killed a renowned general in the blink of an eye. Oran himself, though, had simply swung his sword reflexively. He barely even remembered the man he killed.

“How are the negotiations going?” Herscherik asked. Normally he would have participated in the negotiations too, but as he was currently recuperating, he had been forced to leave it all to General Barthold.

“General Barthold is handling it. I’m sure he will do just fine. My father told me all about how dependable he is. He’ll handle it all securely without getting greedy.” Oran praised the general, to which Herscherik nodded.

Kuro then returned and announced that the general they’d just been speaking of had stopped by.

“Hersch, General Barthold wants to meet you. Should I let him in?”

“Huh? Yeah, sure. Oh, but shouldn’t I get changed first?”

He had been changing into a fresh set of clothes every day, but the outfits were all very plain. Herscherik wondered if it really was a good idea for a prince to meet with a general wearing such simple clothes, but Kuro removed a coat from the closet and put it on Herscherik’s shoulders.

“Just drape this coat over yourself. I’m sure your wound still hurts, so you don’t need to put your arms into the sleeves.”

As Herscherik’s arm would hurt a little whenever he moved it, he obediently did as Kuro said.

“Prince Herscherik, I’m sorry for disturbing you during your rest. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, General Barthold. I’m sorry for making you take care of all the post-battle cleanup,” Herscherik regretfully responded to Barthold, who had just entered the room.

“That is my job. However, I’ll need your assistance with the supreme commander of the imperial army that we captured...”

“Is there a problem? Are the negotiations going badly?” Herscherik asked, curious about the hesitation he heard in Barthold’s voice. The royal army had defeated the empire and was now in an overwhelmingly advantageous position. The empire shouldn’t have been able to make any strong demands.

“No, no, the agreements regarding reparations and a ceasefire are coming along smoothly with the help of the department of Foreign Affairs. We are also preparing to send the captive soldiers back.”

As it had been a tremendously short battle, the empire had only lost one tenth of its main force along with its assault unit. The royal army had lost about two tenths of their own. Gracis’s demands were for the empire to pay consolation money to injured soldiers and the families of fallen soldiers, the cost of restoring the villages that had been burnt down during the ambush, and reparations to the kingdom itself. On top of that, they had also demanded that the Atrad empire sign a five-year non-aggression pact.

“Is there some other problem, then?” Herscherik asked, at which Barthold frowned and hesitantly opened his mouth.

“The imperial commanding officer wishes to meet with you... He claims that he is in possession of information that Your Highness would want.”

Herscherik narrowed his eyes and debated the matter in his head for a moment before nodding.

“Very well. I shall hear what he has to say. Schwarz, make the arrangements.”

“Understood.”

Seeming slightly discontent, Kuro nodded and picked out a change of clothes, helping Herscherik change into them. Normally Herscherik would do it himself, but he was currently inconvenienced by the wound in his left arm, making it difficult to get dressed. Herscherik then exited the room with Kuro and Oran in tow, meeting up with Barthold who had been waiting outside. Shiro remained in the room, busy reading.

Upon seeing Herscherik, Barthold once again hesitantly opened his mouth.

“The enemy commanding officer says he wishes to see you alone...”

Upon hearing this, the temperature of the air around his men of service seemed to drop drastically—around his butler in particular.

Herscherik was shown to the room where the commanding officer was being kept prisoner. The room was minimally furnished, only outfitted with a bed, desk, and chair, but it was still much better than a stone cell. Inside this room, Herscherik came face to face with the enemy commanding officer for the first time.

“You are the commander-in-chief of the Atrad army, correct?”

In front of Herscherik was a man with an air of nobility to him. His hair and eyes were the color of fallen leaves, and he seemed to be in his forties. He greeted Herscherik without standing up from his chair, keeping his legs crossed.

“Now this is a surprise. I never thought it would be someone this young,” the man said in a shocked tone, but his gaze was alertly appraising Herscherik. “You can’t judge a book by its cover, they say, but I hardly expected to have my plans ruined by a child.”

The man spoke as though talking to himself, and Herscherik shrugged. This was far from the first time he’d received this kind of reaction.

“Hello. My name is Herscherik Gracis. So, what was it you wanted to discuss?” Herscherik attempted to get right to the point as the man observed Herscherik from head to toe. He had already discarded his façade of a quiet young prince.

“Oh, sorry about that. It’s just that I never expected that man to be so wary of a prince this young.”

“So you two were connected after all.” Herscherik didn’t need to ask who he was referring to—it was obvious “that man” referred to Barbosse. However, he had not been expecting the man to mention their connection outright, which made Herscherik wary.

Had the man simply been a shallow person who was frank about his desires—someone who had simply gone along with the minister’s plans—Herscherik wouldn’t have been this concerned. But the man in front of him did not seem shallow in the slightest.

The imperial noble smiled a cunning smile after hearing Herscherik’s answer.

“I hear a lot of rumors about the kingdom. Things seem quite chaotic over there.”

Herscherik read between the lines.

So not only is this man connected to Barbosse, he also has some amount of information on the internal workings of Gracis.

Information was a treasure as well as a weapon. If you knew the internal state of an enemy country, your own country could gain the upper hand. Gracis had lost the information war, as someone had freely leaked intelligence to the empire. And not just anyone—the minister himself had leaked information to the empire in order to compel them to act according to his wishes, Herscherik surmised. And this imperial noble had been fully aware of that fact as he went along with the plan.

“Is that why you accepted the deal?”

“Of course. I’m no fool—I’ll take anything I can get,” the man spoke, as Herscherik furrowed his brow. He really had gone along with everything deliberately.

However, that in itself was not a problem. The problem here was why he had decided to mention that now. He was a noble who had secretly been colluding with the minister. Why had he sought contact with the prince, knowing that he was antagonistic toward the minister?

“So, what do you want, exactly?”

Herscherik cut to the chase, tired of beating around the bush. He was already fed up with all of this insinuation and probing. Not to mention, he had always been bad with people like this man—the kind who quietly observe people while smiling, who enjoy seeing how people react.

“I’m sorry. Whatever do you mean by that?” the man replied with a vague smile.

Herscherik shrugged his shoulders and let out a small sigh.

“You called me here because you had some information to share, right? So I’m asking you what you want in return. Or are you trying to provoke me in some kind of attempt to plunge the kingdom further into chaos?”

That seemed quite possible, Herscherik thought. If he and the minister started feuding openly with each other, that would turn into a fight between the royal family and the nobles who supported Barbosse. If a civil war were to break out, it would provide the empire ample opportunity to take advantage of the resulting disorder and attack, leading to losses far beyond anything they’d experienced this time around.

But I won’t let that happen. That was exactly why Herscherik had always acted with the utmost precaution.

The man in front of him was attempting to instigate a war. He was holding a sword made of words to Herscherik’s throat in order to rile him up.

“If that’s your aim, I’d recommend you stop, as it’s a terrible waste of your time.”

Herscherik spoke as if stopping the sword in its path with his bare hands, his gaze fixed straight at the imperial noble. In response to his gaze, the man stopped smiling as if he was just playing with Herscherik, his face turning serious instead.

“I see... You really are clever. No wonder that man has his eyes set on you.”

Herscherik did not need to ask to know that the man in question was Barbosse.

“Have you met him?” Herscherik asked, as the man spoke as if he had met Barbosse in person before. The noble, however, shook his head.

“No, not in person. However, I get word of what he’s up to.”

The minister that infested the country. His influence extended beyond the borders of the kingdom, to the various neighboring countries as well. One example is the very ambush they had just fought off—while the ambush unit had partially been able to traverse the Principality of Parche due to the empire’s power, the influence of the minister couldn’t be discounted. If not for him, Parche would have been unable to simply turn a blind eye. Such was the extent of Barbosse’s influence, and this was the prince that he loathed—nay, feared.

The man gave a dejected smile. There were two reasons that he had wanted to meet with the prince. One was exactly what the prince had just suggested. The empire had lost the battle, but he couldn’t simply return empty handed. He had hoped to instead agitate the prince enough to incite a civil war in Gracis, but the prince refused to play along so easily—he had even seen right through him. This had spelled the man’s utter defeat.

In that case, he might as well fulfill his second reason.

“I am a noble of the tenth rank within the Atrad empire. Had I prevailed in battle, I would have been able to curry favor with His Majesty the Emperor and been rewarded with a higher rank. But I lost. If I return now, all that awaits me is the shame of defeat.”

The emperor was at the top of the imperial hierarchy, and he had a say in all matters. This battle had been declared a guaranteed victory, yet in spite of having brought a large army with him, this nobleman had lost. Were he to return, he certainly wouldn’t rise in the ranks—in fact, he faced a real chance of losing what rank he had. He may even find himself beheaded for incurring the emperor’s wrath or killed in his sleep by a rival noble.

“Knowing that, I wanted to at least get a glimpse of this ‘Prince of Light’ who managed to win in the face of an overwhelmingly hopeless situation.”

“Prince of Light...?” Herscherik looked puzzled, and the man started laughing as if something was terribly amusing.

“The tale of the Prince of Light is popular in Atrad too, you see. The brave and gallant prince featured in the story—he’s none other than you, isn’t he?”

The performances put on by traveling troupes were not confined by borders like other people were. Even if the performance was based on real events, all they had to do was change the names of the locations and characters and they could continue to put on their festive plays wherever they went.

Among these performances, The Prince of Light was particularly popular. The man had suspected that the prince in the tale was none other than the prince in front of him—a feeling that had only turned to conviction as the battle had ended.

But Herscherik denied his conjecture, shaking his head as if to shake off his words.

“I only won because I was lucky.”

Because the imperial army ambushed them exactly as Herscherik had predicted, they had been able to turn the table on them. Because the battle-hardened Heath was there, they’d been able to deploy their troops smoothly. Because word of Shiro hadn’t yet reached neighboring countries, they’d been able to force their way through. Because the enemy had been careless and established their headquarters close to the front lines, they had been able to take the supreme commander alive. Had their luck run out at any one of these points, they would most certainly have lost.

Had there been no ambush, they would have had to face an imperial army of a hundred thousand men head-on with only twenty thousand. Had the second general not been Heath, a trusted commander and Roland’s former subordinate, but instead some incompetent aristocrat, a general in name only, it would have been difficult to fight off the ambush. Had Shiro’s abilities been widely known, the enemy could have prepared many layers of barriers to obstruct his magic. Had the headquarters been further to the back, there’s no guarantee that Oran would have been able to reach it.

What if the empire had realized that the ambush unit had been annihilated? What if they had erected defensive barriers at night? What if a patrol unit had discovered the army hiding in the forest? What if there had been someone in the imperial army who was an equal match for Oran? What if Herscherik’s signal had been too late? If even one of these had happened, things would likely have turned out for the worse.

Herscherik had long ago noticed that the minister’s henchmen had been acting suspiciously; when the minister had made contact with First Queen Perla, Herscherik had finally made his move. He tried to foresee every possible scenario to ensure that nothing slipped by him, worked with the assumption of a worst-case scenario, used every connection at his disposal, devised a large number of diverse plans, and worked to ensure that any losses were kept to a minimum. All to be sure that he could deal with anything that came his way. And with a great deal of luck on his side, he’d managed to come out on top.

Herscherik closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He then opened his eyes again and looked straight at the man.

“Would you mind sharing your name?”

“My name is Dick Eol Lynx,” the imperial noble—Dick—responded. He continued to observe Herscherik, who now had a different air about him.

“Mr... Eolynx?”

“Nobles in Atrad include their title between their given name and their family name. Eol is the tenth rank of the imperial nobility.”

“I see,” Herscherik nodded. His eyes lit up with a daring gleam. “Mr. Lynx, why don’t we make a deal?”

“A deal?” Dick grew suspicious at this sudden proposition, but Herscherik continued with a charming smile.

“I hate war. I can’t stand people killing or being killed. If possible I’d prefer to prevent the shedding of any unnecessary blood, be it the blood of my own people or those of the enemy.”

In Herscherik’s past life, Ryoko Hayakawa had lived a life completely sheltered from war. She had known about wars and how horrifying they were from history books, but she had never experienced one first hand. Ryoko had also been fond of games, novels, and manga, and had in particular enjoyed war stories, where characters put their own convictions at stake as they boldly fought against fate.

However, having been born into a world much like that of the stories Ryoko had enjoyed, Herscherik was now unable to approach the subject in the same lighthearted way.

“Now that’s idealism if I’ve ever heard it,” Dick scoffed. “As long as there are two countries with two different rulers left in this world, war will break out. It’s unavoidable that countries with differing views will clash. War is but a means for a country to solidify its own existence.”

“I’m well aware that it’s idealistic.”

While Herscherik wanted to dispute what Dick had said, he also understood his point. He had grappled with the very same problem himself many times in the past. There were indeed times when war was necessary. Not all conflict could be avoided, and Herscherik understood that sometimes you even had to kill to protect. Nothing was that simple—neither the world nor the people who lived in it.

“But even if you can’t eliminate all war, it must be possible to reduce it. We can discuss, come to understand each other, and compromise. After all, we have been blessed with the mouths and minds needed for dialogue.”

Herscherik understood how naïve he was being. But he had made up his mind. He had to at least make an attempt at his ideal world—even if he would have to travel endlessly far to get there, even if a multitude of hardships stood in his way. That is the path he had decided upon.

I see... He might very well be a “hero” after all, Dick thought as he heard Herscherik explain his ideals without hesitation.

Dick believed there to be two different kinds of heroes. The first were heroes manufactured by people. These individuals were built up to heroic status by people to serve as their hope in times of distress, and were forced to shoulder unreasonable amounts of expectation—little more than jesters to bolster the feelings of others. Sometimes they would be manufactured deliberately, and left to the currents of time they would continue to dance upon the stage of history as false idols, despite being little more than pitiable puppets.

The other kind were true heroes. They held convictions of their own, answered the hopes of the people, shouldered countless lives, and accepted both cheers and slander as they tread down their thorny path. They were an unwavering source of hope.

A dancing jester or an unwavering hero—Dick couldn’t tell which the prince in front of him was. The answer would not reveal itself until long after he was dead.

“Mr. Lynx?” Herscherik called out to Dick, who had fallen silent. Hearing his name spoken, Dick took a deep breath before responding.

“So you want me to serve as a mediator between the empire and the kingdom?” Dick asked, having figured out the deal Herscherik wanted to make. “And in return, my status might increase. But will it really go as smoothly as all that? What if I’m instead accused of colluding with Gracis and charged with treason?”

“I’ll just have to trust you to handle everything well. But this is an official deal between two countries. Having the countries negotiate from an equal position would not be in conflict with national interests. I think our chances are good.”

If there was a possibility that they could come to understand each other, that they could join hands, then they had to seize it. That was Herscherik’s ideal. However, reality was too cruel and full of hardship for his ideal to be achieved so easily. Even so, there must be some chance of bridging the gap between ideal and reality, Herscherik thought.

“What if I use you to attack the kingdom?”

“But you failed this time, didn’t you? If you attack us again, we’ll simply turn the tables on you again.”

“What if I fail and get exiled from the empire?”

“I’ll try to find you a job to do in the kingdom. We could use more talented people.” Herscherik responded to each of Dick’s questions with a smile. “We have a whole five years to sort things out.”

As Herscherik attempted one final push, Dick started to laugh.

“You’re quite the bold one, Prince Herscherik.”

One moment the boy proposed a deal, the next he threatened to turn the tables on them. He lured him in with promises of protection in the event that he defected, complete with a deadline. He may have been a mere child, but to Dick he seemed like some kind of superior being as he slowly accepted his own utter defeat.

“You’re quite the actor yourself. Though that’s exactly why I sought to make a deal with you,” Herscherik grinned.

Seeing Herscherik’s expression, Dick realized that even though he’d been attempting to test the prince, really it had been the prince who was testing him. Perhaps Herscherik had even been waiting for him to attempt to strike a deal. Had Dick simply given up completely after losing the battle, the prince would have concluded that there was no room for negotiation. It was precisely because he had considered Dick worth dealing with that he had opened negotiations to begin with.

“Very well, Prince Herscherik. I can’t give you an immediate response, but I will report to the emperor and do everything in my power to bring this deal to fruition. This is worth much more than simple territory for both countries.”

“Yes, and I will be sure to receive the approval of my father—of His Majesty,” Herscherik said and held out his hand. Dick stood up from his chair and took Herscherik’s hand.

“Please forgive my disrespect of staying seated until now. But Prince Herscherik... You have a difficult road ahead of you,” Dick said, secretly surprised at how small Herscherik’s hand was when clasped in his own. “If you’re able to defeat that man, you’ll become the hero of the kingdom. Even if you don’t wish to be one, others will wish it of you. And your light will shine brightly both within and outside your borders.”

Dick had a feeling that the boy before him would become someone who would illuminate the world.

“You’re aware of it yourself, aren’t you? The fact that you might end up being the cause of conflict someday soon, Prince of—no, Hero of Light.”

Herscherik said nothing as he released his grip on Dick’s hand, only smiling quietly.

A few days after his meeting with Dick, Herscherik’s life had grown hectic—the exact opposite of how it was just a few days prior. As the king’s proxy, he was given an office, where he found himself fighting with paperwork as he took care of cleaning up after the battle. He read through document after document, handing it back if something wasn’t to his satisfaction, signing it if it met his exacting standards. He would sometimes flee to chat enthusiastically with the soldiers, only for Kuro or Oran to track him down and drag him back to the office. Even so, he would flee yet again to coop himself up in the library to read with Shiro, have tea with General Barthold... and get captured again. His days were hectic indeed.

Negotiations with the empire were also proceeding smoothly, as they arranged a date for the return of their captive imperial soldiers. However, Herscherik’s days of grappling with paperwork came to an abrupt end when a soldier barged into his office.

“It’s urgent!”

“What is it?” Herscherik looked at the soldier with slightly worn-out eyes, straightening his tiny body. He’d squeezed himself in between a desk and a chair far too large for him, with ink smeared on his cheek. While he at least didn’t have to deal with the boredom of being confined to his bed anymore, he had grown slightly irritable after dealing with paperwork with no end in sight. He currently wore an expression completely unbefitting the usually sociable prince, but the soldier was far too frantic to notice.

“We just received an urgent report that His Majesty the King has fallen ill!”

“What...?”

Herscherik dropped his fountain pen, which rolled along on his desk before falling to the floor and leaving a black stain on the carpet, but no one could fault him for it.

The very same evening, Herscherik inspected the company that had already finished the preparations to return to the capital. He was to be accompanied only by his men of service and the royal guards, along with a handful of select others. They were to march on a strict schedule, traveling day and night with as little rest as possible, using more than twice as many horses as there were people.

“Your Highness...”

“General Barthold, I leave the rest to you,” Herscherik responded as he went over the documents one final time while standing, his eyes fixed on the paperwork.

“And General Heath, you’ll be in command for the expedition’s return to the capital.”

“You got it,” Heath, who was standing next to Barthold, said as he raised one hand in response. His adjutant warned him for being disrespectful yet again.

After the imperial army had withdrawn completely, Heath’s job was to ensure the triumphant return of the expedition to the capital. Originally Herscherik had been planning to take part in that march.

Seeing Herscherik’s grim expression, Barthold had hesitated at first, but then steeled himself and started speaking.

“Your Highness... That man is trying to repeat the same tragedy that...”

“I know,” Herscherik interrupted Barthold without waiting for him to finish. “I’m taking them back with me to the capital in order to ensure that doesn’t happen.”

Herscherik’s gaze was turned toward Teodor and his fellows who had colluded with the empire, whose wrists were currently tied, along with Roy who was timidly preparing for their departure. Roy was to serve as a key witness.

I won’t let Barbosse get away with doing whatever he pleases.

He clenched his fist and did not let up, even as he crumpled the documents he was holding. Barthold simply gazed at the prince, unable to say anything more.

“Prince Hersch, we are ready to leave.”

“All right. We’ll leave at once,” Herscherik said to Kuro as he handed over the documents he was holding and started walking.

“Your Highness, please take care.”

“You can leave the rest to me.”

Herscherik stopped and responded to Barthold and Heath with a nod, his back turned toward them. He then boarded the carriage where Shiro was already sitting. The carriage immediately set off, moving even faster than it had on the march to the fort; under normal circumstances Herscherik would have been suffering from motion sickness, but right now he had no time to be sick.

He imagined his father’s kind, yet sad face.

“Father...” Herscherik mumbled to himself, but his voice was lost in the noise of the carriage.