Chapter Nine: The Prince, the Minister, and the End of the Tragedy

Barbosse reached out for the door handle but found himself grasping air instead. He then widened his eyes at the sight of exactly who had appeared in the doorway.

“This is the end of the line for you, Barbosse.” Marx shook his head, red hair swirling, as he shot Barbosse a piercing gaze.

“Why... are you...?” Barbosse took a few steps back.

An unbelievable scene was unfolding before him. William entered the room after Marx, followed by Oran and Kuro in turn. At the sight of the final person, however, Barbosse’s eyes widened so much it looked like they might fall out of their sockets.

“Barbosse...”

The person spoke Barbosse’s name, and Barbosse knew that he was neither dreaming nor hallucinating. Before him, supported by his butler, stood the king who just the other day had been lying in his bed, at death’s door. He was still thin, but looked much healthier than before.

Once everyone had entered, William addressed the master of the room. “Hersch, you can drop the act.”

Upon hearing this, a sound like air escaping the mouth of a balloon was heard from Herscherik’s mouth. His light, golden hair shook violently as he burst into laughter, then started coughing, before finally opening and closing his mouth repeatedly like a fish having trouble breathing. Finally, he took a deep breath and calmed himself down.

“Wow, that was close. I thought I’d suffocate from having to hold back all that laughter.”

“Why...?”

Herscherik gave the dumbfounded minister an angelic smile.

“By the way, I recorded the whole conversation ever since you entered the room. It was actually funny how open you were about everything. Thank you for that,” Herscherik said, as he flashed him the pocket watch he had been holding.

“And I’ve recorded not just today’s conversation, but also the men who attacked me during the expedition, as well as General Seghin’s confession and Roy’s testimonial. Oh, and I’ve already made copies of everything other than the conversation we just had. Do you want proof?”

Herscherik silently issued a mental command to the pocket watch, as the artifact, already charged with Floating Magic, started to glow faintly before playing back the conversation.

The advantage of magical items was that there was no need to recite incantations. Magical devices only served to augment other spells and thus still required all the usual casting procedures, but with magical items you only needed to imbue them with power. As a result, Herscherik only needed to command the pocket watch in his mind as he held it to activate the recording spell without being noticed.

“How... is this possible...?”

Herscherik grinned as he noticed Barbosse’s gaze shift between him and his father and brothers.

“Oh, are you wondering why they’re up and about? That’s simple. We got hold of the antidote for the poison you’d been feeding them.”

“The antidote?! But I’m...!” Barbosse began to say, but before he could complete his sentence with “the only one who has that,” he was interrupted by the smiling prince in front of him, who knew exactly what he was about to say.

“Oh, let me be more specific. It’s not an antidote, but a neutralizer that we had made that counteracts the effect of the poison. It was obvious to us that you’d fall back on the poison as a last resort when cornered, you see.”

This method had already worked for Barbosse twice. Having failed at both winning Herscherik over and assassinating him, it was easy to predict what his next course of action would be. However, were he to be fed the poison, Herscherik too would have become incapacitated just like his father.

“You invariably turn to poison in the end. And after that, you’d come to strike a deal with me.”

Without an antidote to his poison, Barbosse would have nothing to offer. But there was no guarantee that such an antidote would result in a full recovery.

Herscherik had been combing through the castle for any information he could find on the poison since he was only three years old; however, there was no such information to be found. So instead he focused his efforts on finding an alternative method to combat it as he collected information during his castle town visits and his trips outside the capital to vanquish evil. Despite all this, he still turned up nothing about the poison itself.

“I thought I had no option but to give up on figuring that poison out. But then, Jeanne came to the rescue.”

It was the earring she had given him just before dying. The earring turned out to be a storage mechanism which had contained information on how to make Barbosse’s signature poison.

“Thanks to her, we managed to replicate it, and ultimately we were able to concoct something that would neutralize it.”

Sigel had been in charge of producing the neutralizer, and he had accepted the mission without a moment’s hesitation.

“I’m Mark’s Spellcaster of service. Of course I’ll help,” he’d said, although he’d been unable to keep his feelings of anticipation from showing on his face at the thought of new research.

In the process of creating the poison, it had been imbued with magical formulas. However, not only were those formulas difficult to decode, they were encrypted to boot, and Shiro had been forced to help out—although, “magic maniac” that he was, he had gleefully participated. Additionally, the poison made use of some rather rare herbs—but with the help of Kuro, who for some reason turned out to be quite well-read on the topic, that proved no hurdle.

Herscherik had been worried that someone would catch on to the research they were doing, but since Sigel already had a habit of locking himself up in his room and devoting himself to his research, no one suspected a thing. Even after Weiss had joined the project, the reaction from both normal people and the Spellcasters of the Department of Research had been, “I’m curious, but it seems like it would be dangerous to pry.” As a result, everyone else had avoided them, allowing them to secure time for their research. Even so, you can’t exactly produce a poison or a neutralizer overnight.

“We needed time to produce the neutralizer. That’s why I went along with your plan and left for the border in the first place.”

Herscherik’s goal had been twofold: to buy time, and to draw Barbosse’s attention. However, they couldn’t take too much time, or they would arouse suspicion and their research would be discovered. That’s why he needed to end the battle as quickly as possible. That way Herscherik could corner Barbosse psychologically and force the minister to focus solely on him.

And just as predicted, Barbosse fell back on his last resort. However, it was still a gamble whether they would be able to make the neutralizer in time. When Herscherik arrived back at the capital, the neutralizer was still not complete, so Shiro had gone straight to Sigel’s room to assist him. By the time Herscherik arrived home after having been present for Louise’s childbirth, he had been informed that a prototype of the neutralizer was ready.

“We have no time to experiment. We don’t know if this will work or not.”

It was definitely a gamble. Still, Herscherik had nodded and taken the neutralizer to his suffering family, and after telling them everything, he had given it to them.

In the end, Herscherik’s gamble had paid off.

Incidentally, having worked for three days straight without sleep, Shiro and Sigel had collapsed immediately after hearing about the neutralizer’s effectiveness, and they were now sleeping like the dead. The fact that Kuro, who had similarly worked day and night, was still fine spoke volumes about his experience as a former spy.

“One thing always struck me as strange, though. Why didn’t you use the poison on me?”

Herscherik had been unable to figure out why Barbosse would go to such elaborate lengths in his attempts to kill him. It would have been far simpler to make it seem as though he died from illness, just like his oldest sister—so why didn’t the minister just do that?

But then, Herscherik had realized something. Perhaps he couldn’t be killed in the same way. The reason lay in what separated him from the rest of his family.

“What separates me from the rest of my family... is my Magic Within.”

The poison functioned by altering the nature of one’s Magic Within. This resulted in the victim’s Magic being artificially depleted in abnormal amounts; once their Magic ran out it would instead deplete their stamina, and finally their very life force. To an onlooker it would seem like the victim’s health simply deteriorated for no apparent cause. But having no Magic Within of his own, the poison would not work on Herscherik. Conversely, the more Magic one possessed, the worse the effects of the poison. The members of the royal family possessed more Magic than the average person—and Eutel, who had possessed so much Magic that it had overflowed his own vessel, had felt the effects even stronger than the rest, and had been in critical condition.

“This poison alters your Magic and makes it go wild. That is what drove the royal family to their deaths. Since I have no Magic Within to begin with, it doesn’t work on me. So since you couldn’t kill me and make it seem like an illness, you had no choice but to rely on more forceful means.”

He couldn’t dress it up as an illness, and any direct attempts at assassinating Herscherik would have been prevented by Kuro, a former spy, and Oran, who had effortlessly won the Games of Contest and taken on a hundred zealots without suffering so much as a scratch. After the magical genius Shiro had joined him, Herscherik had been left with practically no blind spots.

After he’d failed to win the prince over using his daughter, few options remained for Barbosse. And so, he had been forced to take advantage of the conflict with the empire. By sending him into that conflict, Barbosse could wear down Herscherik’s defenses before finally taking him out. Alternatively he could simply let the empire take him hostage, never allowing him to step on Gracis soil again. The odds had been in Barbosse’s favor—but not guaranteed.

“You’re the type who only acts when you know you can win. And yet, when you wanted to deal with me, you resorted to gambling.”

There was only one explanation.

“You had to get rid of me, because I possessed enough evidence to send you to your doom,” Herscherik said, with a glance toward Kuro.

In response, Kuro quickly left for the study, and then returned carrying documents. Herscherik took the documents from Kuro and held them up, as if to shove them into Barbosse’s face.

“These are the documents on the drug seized from the Church, as well as those on the poison I got from Jeanne. I was informed that some elements of their composition bear a striking resemblance.”

Once he’d heard that, Herscherik had finally understood how the incidents were connected—and it concerned the strength-increasing drug that they’d seized from the Church in the spring. The documents they had confiscated stated that the drug altered the user’s Magic in order to enhance both their Magic and their vessel, and that enhanced Magic in turn served to bolster the user’s physical strength. Unless they continued to take the drug, the user would be unable to maintain their enhanced body and vessel. The user’s physical strength and immune system would then deteriorate, weakening them until finally resulting in their death.

This poison worked by altering the user’s Magic, just like the drug. Sigel and Shiro’s research had additionally shown that the ingredients and magical formulas required for the two were far too similar for it to be a simple coincidence.

“The obvious conclusion is that the drug and the poison was produced in the same place, and with the same method.”

Herscherik conjectured that the Department of Research had accidentally stumbled upon this poison while researching the drug. Research into the drug had been stopped, but once he’d learned about the poison, Barbosse had procured it in secret and used it to assassinate the previous king and his sons while making it seem as though they had died from illness. All of the data on the substance had then been moved to a barrier-protected vault at the Department of Research, and its very existence had been forgotten. Everyone who had participated in the research subsequently died in accidents or illnesses, one after another. They must have been intentionally silenced. Thus, the truth had been buried—with the exception of the documents in the vault.

“Barbosse, you feared that the documents in the vault would come to light one day.”

Research data was a vital asset to any country, as it could one day be put to good use no matter what it was. As such, data was never disposed of. Someone might one day take an interest in the canceled research and resume it. If that were to happen, they would learn of the drug and the poison, and there was a chance that the truth of the royal family’s untimely death would be discovered.

“When you learned that the Church wanted that drug, it was the perfect opportunity for you. You removed any information on the poison from the data and handed the rest to the Church.”

Even if it was evident that some of the data had been stolen, with everyone involved out of the picture it would be nigh impossible to track it down. If worse came to worst, he could simply blame the Church.

“You then made the decision not to dispose of the data on the poison, on the off chance you needed it in the future.”

Barbosse was a cautious man. He would never have gotten rid of his own trump card.

Sigel mentioned that the poison deteriorated as it aged, causing it to lose effectiveness. That would make it impossible to store it for longer periods of time. At the same time, he couldn’t simply leave the documents in someone else’s care, as that would have meant giving them ample material for blackmail. Barbosse concluded that keeping it hidden in his own house would be the safest solution.

“And thus, all information on the drug and the poison was gone from the castle... or so you thought.”

Herscherik threw the documents concerning the drugs onto the floor at Barbosse’s feet; then, he took out some documents he had kept in the inner pocket of his coat and held them up.

“To ensure that no one could connect you to the deed, you had someone else handle the negotiations—Count Grim. But he only served as a middleman. This here is proof that you’re the one who ultimately sold those drugs to the Church.”

In Herscherik’s hand was a secret communication dated five years prior, addressed to the Church.

“There’s no name written on it. But if one were to analyze the handwriting, it would be clear who wrote it. I’ve gone over a great many documents these past three years.”

This world had nothing remotely like a computer, so all documents were written by hand. There were magical items that could copy text, but the original document still needed to be written out. Having spent years sifting through documents in the castle, Herscherik had developed the ability to tell at a glance more or less who had written a document. His Father, for instance, wrote in a beautiful, flowing style, and he had a habit of marking the end of his sentences with a dot; Marx would always write the first character of a sentence slightly larger; and so on.

This secret communication, meanwhile, featured distinctive handwriting marked by strong brush pressure and an upwards slant. Herscherik had struggled with reading this handwriting early on.

“This is your handwriting, Minister Barbosse.”

“Just where did you find that?!”

Herscherik held up his pocket watch like an official’s badge in response.

“It was stored in Klaus’s pocket watch.”

Herscherik had thought back to something he had been told before: “I’ll give you a little bonus. Make sure you don’t lose that pocket watch of yours. It will help you along the way like nothing else will.” So the Oracle had told him. This pocket watch certainly has helped me, Herscherik thought.

It had stored magical formulas so that even the Magic-less Herscherik could use spells, it had protected him, and it had even recorded confessions from Barbosse and others, giving him access to irrefutable evidence. However, the most important thing it had provided was this secret communication. It would help avenge the previous king and his brothers, who would have been Herscherik’s uncles if they had lived.

“By itself, this document doesn’t serve as proof for anything beyond misappropriation. That’s a crime far less serious than colluding with an enemy nation. That’s why Klaus chose not to make use of it himself. However, he did make sure to leave it inside this pocket watch.” Herscherik stared intently at Barbosse. “You learned that this communication had unexpectedly made its way into Klaus’s hands. And so you framed him and had him executed before it had a chance of seeing the light of day.”

To Barbosse, Grim had been nothing but a pawn to cast aside when it suited him. However, Grim, who’d known nothing about the secret communication, had displayed his own ability to sense danger and chose not to destroy the communication. Even so, the fact that it ultimately ended up in Klaus’s hands was proof that he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box.

“Everything finally came together.”

The tragedy of the royal family, Klaus’s death, the drug, the poison... Everything had come together.

Herscherik took a deep breath and stared the frozen Barbosse down as he exhaled.

“Give it up already, Barbosse.”

Herscherik threw the copy of the secret communication onto the floor with the other documents.

“This... This country won’t change so easily,” Barbosse grumbled in a quiet voice as he stepped on the documents on the floor. A crunching noise echoed throughout the room. “This country is rotten to the core. Even if I hadn’t done anything, it would have continued to rot all on its own. I am the only reason it has survived until now!”

Reflecting his own emotions, Barbosse’s voice steadily grew louder and louder. Before Barbosse had become a marquis, before he had made his way up the ranks in the castle, the country had already started to rot from within. The nobles had disregarded the timid king two generations prior, strutting around the castle like they owned it and preying on the country and its people. Barbosse had simply followed their example in order to survive. And because he had done so, Gracis had survived.

The Wise King, however, did not approve of this, as he had attempted to purge the corrupt factions of the nobility. He had even tried to discard Barbosse—the very man who had maintained the country until then! So Barbosse had wiped him out, leaving only the timid Third Prince Solye behind. Solye had resisted at first, but after the birth of the crown prince, Barbosse had killed the newborn prince’s older sister. Solye had always obeyed after that.

“Even if you get rid of me, this country won’t change! In fact, without me to control it, Gracis will only plummet even faster toward ruin!”

Just as Barbosse claimed, the nobles and officials who had exploited this country would not easily forget that sweet taste of money and power. Without Barbosse at the top, they might even lose what little remained of their restraint, which would lead to the further rotting of the country and eventually its final decline.

“You think I don’t understand that?” Herscherik concurred with the minister.

He walked up to the desk by the window, picked up the documents spread out on top of it, and threw them onto the floor as well.

“That’s why I’ve been collecting all of this. Nobles, higher-ups, officials, knights, soldiers, constables... Public and private figures alike. I’ve been gathering evidence of every wrongdoing in this country that I’ve been able to get my hands on.” Herscherik’s voice was cold as he suppressed his feelings.

Barbosse looked down at the documents to find a small part of Herscherik’s evidence of wrongdoings. Herscherik continued grabbing documents from the desk and throwing them onto the floor. Falsified tax revenues, made-up expenditures from colluding with merchants, misappropriated goods and military equipment, false charges, cover-ups of the crimes of public figures... One document after the other, the evidence piled up on the floor.

Finally, he picked up a large pile of papers on the desk with both hands and threw it, as if to express some indescribable emotion.

“I’ve been collecting it this whole time.”

Ever since I learned how to read, ever since I started my audits three years ago... This whole entire time!

Day after day, even as he’d struggled with his own sense of powerlessness, Herscherik had continued without fail. Even as he had taken Kuro and Oran with him to vanquish evil around the country like a certain shogun in the dramas Ryoko used to watch, far more evils still remained. Even with all his evidence gathering and vanquishing, what he’d accomplished was only a drop in the bucket. But still, he had refused to give up, and he steadfastly continued his work.

It had all been for this day.

“I won’t let anyone get away with it.”

If he was to do this, he had to be thorough. Every single one of them had to be rounded up. After all, that is why he had been gathering the evidence all this time.

Herscherik continued speaking to Barbosse, who had fallen silent.

“Hey, did you know?” He spoke almost like a small child. “In one village, an old man starved to death in the winter. He had no money left after paying exorbitant taxes, and he chose not to eat anything, giving it to his son and daughter-in-law instead.”

Why hadn’t he come to save them sooner, the son, his wife, and their children had asked him that day.

“In the red-light district, a young woman is separated from her fiance, working in order to support her family.”

He had been lost for words at the sight of her sad smile that day.

“A man was crying because he could no longer afford the medicine his little sister needed, and he had to turn to burglary. He had even killed someone in a desperate attempt to save his sister. And in the end... his sister died too.”

He had cared for that man as he regretted his crimes on his deathbed.

Herscherik had saved as many people as he could. At the same time, though, he had been too late for so many of them. He still remembered them vividly, as they were steeped in despair.

“And in this battle, too, many soldiers had to die.”

Even if they hadn’t been ambushed, the soldiers still might have died on the battlefield. But had they known that a conflict was going to break out in advance, there might have been a way to avoid it. At the same time, though, part of Herscherik wondered if he wasn’t looking away from his own powerlessness, placing all the blame on Barbosse instead.

“People who didn’t have to cry, cried. People who didn’t have to die, died. That’s unforgivable.”

Neither of them could be forgiven—not the minister who knew of the coming conflict but refused to stop it, nor Herscherik himself who was unable to. Even if others forgave him, he would never forgive himself.

“The royal family is just as guilty for not stopping me. The king is just as guilty!” Barbosse screamed, as though to shake off Herscherik’s words of condemnation.

“Just as guilty, you say?” Herscherik responded in a scoffing voice. “My father didn’t abandon his duty. He understood the circumstances and still chose to remain on the throne to protect me. And you used him.”

Barbosse had been aware of everything. All of this had been to secure a scapegoat, to ensure that he could survive in the event that the people revolted. That was why he had killed the previous king and Solye’s young daughter, and why he had threatened Solye.

“My father faced his crimes and endured without running away, while you averted your eyes in your lust for even more wealth and power. How could you ever claim that you are both as guilty?! I won’t stand for it!” Herscherik raised his voice.

Solye watched the scene unfold with a sorrowful expression.

“Herscherik...” He called Herscherik’s name, but the prince did not hear him.

Solye’s youngest son was as furious as if it had happened to himself. Herscherik had a tendency to prioritize others, and his empathy and kindness meant that he felt the pain of others as though it was his own. The suffering he must have endured over the years was unimaginable. The king was overcome by an urge to run over to his son and embrace him that very moment; however, though he may have taken the neutralizer, he’d been confined to his bed for so long that he was still only barely able to stand with Rook’s help.

Herscherik took a deep breath to calm himself down before continuing to speak.

“However, the crimes of our subjects are the crimes of the royal family. I won’t avert my eyes from those crimes.”

Even if they had not committed the crimes themselves, that was how a royal family should be, Herscherik thought. His siblings probably thought the same. He saw Marx and William nod in his peripheral vision.

“So in order for this country to change, first you need to be tried,” Herscherik declared, as Barbosse simply quietly let Herscherik’s words wash over him.

Herscherik extended a hand.

“Give me back the earring. It’s the last thing she left behind. It’s important to me.”

It was the only thing he had to remind himself of her.

Barbosse slowly walked up to Herscherik and placed the earring in his open hand. But just as the earring was about to touch Herscherik’s hand, Barbosse grabbed his arm and pulled the prince toward him. As the earring hit the floor, Herscherik found himself held from behind by Barbosse, unable to escape.

“Don’t move!” Barbosse shouted, as he wrapped his arm around Herscherik’s delicate neck. Oran, with his hand on the hilt of his sword, as well as Kuro, had been about to move in to save him, but they froze upon hearing the minister shout. “If you move closer, I’ll kill the prince!”

Barbosse tightened his grip around Herscherik’s throat and Herscherik showed an anguished expression as he fought for breath. If Barbosse tightened his grip any further, he could easily have snapped Herscherik’s neck in two.

Everyone in the room remained speechless, as they were prevented from rushing in to save Herscherik.

“Open the door. If you follow me, the prince’s life is forfeit!”

The men of service, as well as Herscherik’s family, had no choice but to make way for Barbosse. After the minister had left the room, dragging Herscherik with him, the people who remained in the room stood silent. The first person to open his mouth was Oran.

“You know what to do, don’t you, Black Dog?”

Kuro nodded in response, disgruntled, and swiftly left the room without making a noise.

“Herscherik...”

Still supported by Rook, the pale-faced Solye tried to chase after the minister, but Marx stopped him.

“Father, we should leave this to Hersch’s men of service. You were exposed to the poison for a long time. You need to rest. You should take it easy too, Will,” Marx said to his father and the similarly pale-faced William.

Marx himself was looking a bit unwell, but he had forced himself here in order to witness the conclusion of Herscherik’s plan. The triplets and Eutel who possessed the most Magic out of all the siblings, however, were still unable to move.

“But...”

“Everything will be fine, Father. Isn’t that right, Octa?” Marx declared, as he turned his gaze to Herscherik’s knight.

“Yeah. Hersch has it all under control,” Oran nodded firmly.

A man observed his surroundings from the shadows of a National Defense building. His once well-maintained hair was now a mess and his expensive clothes were torn. He was barely recognizable.

The man’s name was Teodor Seghin. He had been a general of Gracis during the recent battle, but after being ambushed by the empire he had fled by himself to the border fort. As a result, he had been arrested for desertion and abandoning his men, as well as attempting to sell a prince to an enemy country.

Luckily, the prison guard that day had been a former subordinate of his. Knowing that this former subordinate could be easily bribed, he promised him monetary compensation in return for letting him out of the jail. Now, he hid himself in the shadows as he waited for his former subordinate to make arrangements for his escape, trying to avoid being noticed.

“Where... Where did I go wrong...?” Teodor mumbled, stricken with despair.

According to the minister’s plan, all he had to do was hand over the prince to the empire. But instead, he’d gone from being a general to a common criminal.

I thought I’d be able to ruin that man!

Teodor thought about the man who had become a general despite coming from a lowly mercenary background. That conceited man whom the Blazing General had taken a liking to, who had distinguished himself and ultimately come to be called the “Undefeated General.” The negligent man who would spend his time off the battlefield smoking and yawning. The man who had been blessed by his superiors and was loved by his subordinates as well as the people—unlike Teodor who despite graduating the academy with outstanding grades, buttering up nobles and the top brass at National Defense, and buying his way to the rank of general, was still weighed down by burdens even after climbing to the top.

The responsibility for the events of the expedition was supposed to have fallen on that man. That’s what the minister had said. Where had the plan gone wrong?

“Just accept the facts—Barbosse used you as disposable pawns.” The words the prince has spoken at the fort resurfaced in his mind.

“It’s all because of that man... Because of that prince... Because of him...”

Suddenly Teodor heard footsteps, and he hunched down to hide. He heard the voices of soldiers conversing frantically as they entered the building.

“Hey, they said the minister abducted Prince Herscherik...”

“His Excellency? I can’t believe it...”

He waited for the soldiers to disappear into the building, and then stood up again.

“I’m not going to die just yet.”

When his former subordinate came to get him, Teodor’s eyes no longer showed a hint of despair, as they were steeped in the color of madness.

They found themselves in a back alley to the side of the castle town’s main thoroughfare. It was dark even in the middle of the day, and, deserted as it was, it might as well have been constructed specifically for hiding. Down the narrow passageway between the buildings squirmed two shadows—one big and one small. The small shadow belonged to Prince Herscherik of Gracis, while the large shadow belonged to Minister Volf Barbosse.

After leaving the royal quarters, Barbosse had pushed Herscherik into his own carriage as he ordered the confused coachman to leave the castle and drive the carriage to the minister’s residence via the shortest possible route. However, everywhere the carriage went, royal guards blocked the way. With blockades on all sides, Barbosse was left with no escape route. Finally, he grabbed Herscherik by the arm and exited the carriage, heading into a back alley too narrow to traverse except on foot.

However, not only did Barbosse normally travel by carriage, he was also dragging a child with him; he was getting worn down by the minute. Herscherik did nothing to resist, leaving himself to Barbosse’s mercy.

Barbosse released his grip on Herscherik and leaned against the wall of a building as he caught his breath and tried to figure out what to do next. It was clear that he could not stay in Gracis any longer. His only choice was to defect to another country.

Once I get back to the mansion, I need to gather up anything of value, and then...

“Barbosse, this is futile,” Herscherik, who had been compliant until now, interrupted Barbosse’s train of thought. “What exactly were you hoping for here?”

Barbosse could do nothing but frown at the all-too-abstract question, as he wiped sweat from his forehead. But Herscherik looked up and continued questioning him.

“Fortune? Fame? Or perhaps power? Just what did you want?”

“Quiet...” Barbosse spoke in an irritated tone. However, Herscherik did not close his mouth.

“You’ve hurt so many, you’ve made so many others cry... Were you able to satisfy whatever desire you had?”

“I told you to be quiet!” Barbosse yelled as he slammed his fist into the wall behind him. Dust fell down on him from above and landed on his expensive clothes, but he paid it no heed as he continued speaking, making no effort to hide his irritation. “I’m the one who steered this country! I’m the only reason the kingdom of Gracis was able to challenge other nations on equal footing!”

Nobles had a lot of influence in Gracis, and many of them had connections with other countries. Barbosse himself possessed a private network of connections that enveloped the continent like a spider web. That intelligence network could indeed be of great use to the country—however, here too he had only been concerned with his own gain. Barbosse would conceal anything he learned that didn’t benefit him, even if it would have served the country.

“Yet the royal family refused to recognize my worth! In fact, they belittled me and tried to rob me of everything I had! So I obtained it all with my own two hands! Wealth, fame, everything!”

The country had started to decay even before the previous king was crowned. The nobility grew more and more tyrannical by the day, and officials followed suit as they buttered up those above and oppressed those below. So in order to rein in the nobles who had gone mad with their own lust for power, the Wise King had attempted to punish the aristocracy and reform the country. However, tragedy had struck his reign, and the country had continued to decay unhindered.

“You know, I don’t think it’s bad that nobles lead more affluent lives than commoners,” Herscherik spoke in a calm voice, the very opposite of the minister’s wild-eyed shouting. “That’s because in return for their wealth, royals and nobles also have much greater responsibility.”

So Herscherik did not object to nobles wearing expensive clothes and dining on gourmet food. Just as everyone receives compensation for their work, nobles were allowed luxuries befitting their standing.

“But you are different.” Herscherik rejected Barbosse directly.

Barbosse viewed everyone but himself as mere tools for him to use and cast aside when he was done with them. He laid all blame for his actions on others, erased everything inconvenient to him, and would abandon all responsibility at the earliest opportunity.

“Is that really all you wanted?”

It was a genuine question. Herscherik found it impossible to imagine that the minister had really desired nothing but wealth, power, and fame.

“If only you hadn’t taken a wrong turn in life, this country would have been more prosperous. Had you done so, you could have obtained all the wealth, fame, and power you wanted by honest means. So what made you stoop to this? What were you trying to achieve?”

Barbosse was exceedingly capable. Many times during his internal audits Herscherik had tried to catch him out, but each attempt had ended in failure. Instead, he’d found himself amazed by the minister’s talent. Barbosse had exploited the people exactly as much as he could without making them turn on the country. He had conducted all governmental affairs without a hitch while still ensuring that he stood to gain from it. Herscherik couldn’t help to wonder where he’d gone wrong.

“Why do you devalue yourself like that?” Barbosse had once been asked.

A golden princess, with blonde hair that shone bright like the sun and eyes of the same color. She had appeared like a messenger from the heavens, and she had loved the king, comforted the queens, cherished the young princes and princesses, and had been loved by the handmaidens and officials of the castle—the king’s favorite queen, the Sunshine of the Royal Quarters. Barbosse turned her words, which had been spoken with an expression that might have been either anger or sadness, over and over in his mind.

“You’re so talented, but why do you only do things that serve to make others unhappy? What do you want?”

The queen had observed him intently, as Barbosse was at a loss for words. Normally he was able to deflect questioning with ease, but for some reason her words in particular stuck with him. And now, her son was asking him the same question.

“Silence!”

Barbosse grabbed Herscherik by his chest and shoved him against the wall. Herscherik grimaced at the impact.

“Then why didn’t you kill me?! That ‘Shadow Fang’ of yours could have done it with ease! You could have just given the order to that Aldis brat or that monster you’re keeping!”

Herscherik’s men had asked him the same thing in the past. Why did he not simply kill him?

Herscherik closed his eyes.

“I... wanted to kill you.” He spoke in a strained voice filled with dark emotions that would be unimaginable coming from the usual Herscherik. These emotions were reflected in his eyes as he opened them, staring straight at Barbosse. “You killed Klaus. Baron Armin and Oran’s fiancée might never have died if not for that drug you sold. Why did they have to die?”

Herscherik felt his emotions—a deep, dark rage—well up inside him, and he was unable to stop it.

“You also trapped Jeanne, making her think that she had no other way to survive. You used her, only to kill her once she got in your way... She died right before my very own eyes.”

Herscherik still remembered it as though it was yesterday—her body growing colder and colder. He couldn’t forget the feeling of his hands drenched with blood. Whenever Herscherik remembered Jeanne, his heart was overcome with love and fierce anger.

“I hated you so much that I wanted to kill you with my own hands,” Herscherik sneered, his eyes burning with such fiery hatred that anyone who saw him would be terrified.

Barbosse remained speechless. He then realized in shock that he’d actually backed away from the prince. But unable to admit that to himself, he slowly opened his mouth, his lips slightly trembling from rage—or perhaps fear.

“Then—”

“But if I sentenced you based on hate alone, I would be no different from you,” Herscherik interrupted Barbosse.

Herscherik’s sneer was gone. He clenched his fist in an attempt to control himself. Then he continued speaking, as if to convince himself.

“If I did, they wouldn’t... she wouldn’t be happy. I’d only make them sad.”

Hatred wasn’t the only thing they’d left to Herscherik—they’d also entrusted him with their hope as they departed. So Herscherik had reined in his feelings of rage. A fierce resentment, the likes of which he had never once felt in his previous life—Herscherik took this feeling, which was directed at himself as much as at Barbosse, and hid it away inside himself.

I won’t let go of these feelings, nor will I hand them over to anyone. They belong to me, and only me.

Perhaps they might fade with time, but they would never disappear fully. As long as he had those feelings, he felt that he would never forget about the people he’d lost.

“Barbosse, confess your crimes. Admit them, accept them, and atone for them.”

Even if Barbosse was given the death penalty, Herscherik wouldn’t let him die here. There was more to his atonement than death.

“Oh... That explains it.” Barbosse spoke to the prince as if he’d finally comprehended something. He then gripped the prince’s collar even harder and lifted him up into the air.

“Bar...bosse...?”

The minister lifted the delicate prince with ease, and Herscherik quickly found it difficult to breathe. Herscherik reflexively grabbed at the hand that was holding him, but it did not budge an inch.

“Prince Herscherik—you let me capture you on purpose so that you could try to convince me, didn’t you?”

Barbosse had sensed something was strange about the prince’s lack of resistance. And while the royal guards set up blockades, there was no indication of them actively searching for them. In other words, even now the situation was completely under the prince’s control.

“How naïve. Oh, how naïve, prince!”

After all this time, trying to win him over with words was a fool’s errand. In the end, the prince didn’t have it in him to be truly ruthless, Barbosse scoffed.

“I’m going to make my escape. I will flee this country, just you see!”

Barbosse further tightened his grip. Herscherik couldn’t breathe, his vision blurred, and he could feel his consciousness start to fade.

In the very next moment, however, the pressure around his neck was gone, and Herscherik fell to the ground, as if thrown. While writhing in pain from being flung to the ground, he gasped for breath—and noticed the smell of iron. He straightened his back and looked for the source of the smell, and his eyes widened in shock.

“Barbosse...?”

The minister was lying face down on the ground, a red pool of blood spreading beneath him. Herscherik was once again reminded of what he had witnessed the day Jeanne died.

Barbosse groaned on the ground, his hand pressed to his chest. Above him stood a man, looking down on the fallen minister.

“General... Seghin...?”

What was this man, who was supposed to be in jail, doing here? Why was he holding a blood-drenched sword? Failing to process the situation, Herscherik continued breathing heavily, as the smell of blood and the rush of air into his lungs finally helped him make sense of what had happened. Teodor had escaped from jail, after which he had found Barbosse strangling Herscherik and impaled him from behind with his sword.

“Prince Herscherik, I have just saved your life,” Teodor spoke in an oddly calm voice for someone who had just now killed a man. In his eyes gleamed the light of madness. “I implore you to recognize this heroic deed, and to forgive my recent discourtesy. And if you would let me, it would be my pleasure to serve by your—”

Herscherik knew the words the man’s madness was driving him to seek. He also knew that if he did not answer the way he wanted, his life would be in danger. However, Herscherik fixed his gaze right at Teodor and cut him off.

“What are you talking about?” Herscherik rejected the general’s plea, even as the man clutched at his bloody sword. “Your crime wasn’t your discourtesy toward me. It was being in a position where you had a duty to protect the country, but still going along with Barbosse’s plans, selling out your own army, before finally abandoning your men and deserting.”

Teodor’s crime against the royal family was by no means a minor one. However, he didn’t even seem to realize that he’d committed even worse crimes than that. Seeing this pushed Herscherik past the point of anger, into pure exasperation.

“Save me as many times as you like—it won’t change the facts. It will never erase the crimes you have already committed.”

Teodor went quiet for a moment before opening his mouth again.

“Very well. I suppose I have no choice.”

With a crazed expression, he turned his blood-drenched sword toward Herscherik.

“This is how it happened: The prince was murdered by Barbosse, his very own minister. When I came across the scene, the poor boy was already dead. In order to avenge the prince, I executed the minister.”

Teodor stepped over the minister’s body and closed in on Herscherik, one step at a time. His shoes wet from the minister’s blood, he left bloody footprints on the ground as he approached the prince with his sword raised. Once in front of the still sitting Herscherik, he raised his sword into the air.

“Die!”

As he shouted, he brought his sword down, and it sliced easily through Herscherik’s body.

Of course, that only happened in Teodor’s head.

In reality, his sword was stuck in what seemed to be empty space, and he was unable to bring it down or up. Actually, it wasn’t just his sword that was affected—he himself was unable to move an inch.

Teodor moved his gaze around and observed his own body. He was wrapped in a thin steel wire, each end affixed to the nearby walls. Teodor had been captured like an insect stuck in a spider’s web. He turned his gaze back to the prince and instead made eye contact with a man whose eyes were a dark, bloody red.

“Kuro.”

“Hersch, this guy won’t change. It’s too late for him.”

Some people were capable of change. There were those who had bettered themselves after meeting Herscherik. However, Kuro also knew that some could not—those who refused to admit their mistakes and those who had given in to madness. There was no returning from madness like this—only one path to salvation.

“Killing him is the compassionate choice.”

But Herscherik rejected his butler’s suggestion.

“We can’t, Kuro.”

“He will undoubtedly try to hurt you at some point.”

“Even so!” Herscherik said firmly. “This is not the place for him to be sentenced.”

That was the last thing Teodor heard before falling unconscious.

Ignoring Teodor, Kuro walked up to the minister and kneeled down. He then flipped him over and inspected his condition.

“Hersch, the minister is already...” Kuro said, attempting to stop the bleeding from the Barbosse’s chest wound. However, the sword had completely pierced his torso; the minister was already on the brink of death.

“Who knew that I’d be killed... by my own sacrificial pawn... in the end...” the minister whispered as he gasped for air. He had never expected to meet as ignoble a fate as being stabbed in a dark alley by one of his own puppets.

Herscherik walked up to him, went down on his knees next to Kuro, and looked him in the eyes.

“Barbosse, were you able to obtain what you desired?”

Hearing Herscherik repeat his question, memories of his past flashed before his eyes as he searched for the answer.

At some point, a hole had opened up in his heart—a vast, hollow hole. He craved something that would fill that emptiness, but had no idea what that might be. So he made use of his position as a noble to seize anything he could get his hands on. But even after obtaining a fortune, commanding a great number of nobles, and even having control over the royal family itself, Barbosse still wasn’t satisfied. The more he obtained, the more he craved, and the bigger the hole grew in want of something. But he still had no idea what it wanted.

Before his eyes flashed an image of the golden princess. When the king had first introduced her to him, despite not being a standout beauty in a court filled with stunning women, she somehow seemed to shine. As he exchanged words with her, he could feel his heart race.

But before he could understand the true nature of his feelings, she departed from this world, leaving behind only her one child with the king. That child was a peculiar one, just like she had been. He was reminded of the sight of the townspeople charging the castle after Herscherik had gone missing. He had felt a bitter emotion as he looked on. The sight of the dignified, unwavering prince, loved by the people, appeared vividly before his eyes even now as his view went dark, as if all the lights were being switched off one by one. Ugly emotions welled up from the bottom of his heart. He hated him. He envied him. The prince had nothing, yet he was loved and recognized by all. He was a light that illuminated the darkness.

Where had he gone wrong? When he was young, he’d still had ambitions of his own, but at some point they had been overwritten by his own self-interests. He had envied the prince, who unlike him had stayed true to his ideals. Herscherik’s piercing gaze, just like hers, had terrified him.

Ah... I see... I envied him...and I was afraid of him, too.

He understood what had been hiding inside him for the first time. However, he had no reason to tell the prince any of this, Barbosse concluded.

“How ridiculous...”

No one could tell whether his words had been directed at the prince or himself. Without ever conveying his true feelings to Herscherik, Volf Barbosse’s consciousness gave out.