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War Luck Flows (2)
Upon receiving the report of Marshal Bielefeld, the king burst into laughter.
“Even though I didn’t know what he was up to, I thought it was strange that the child who always runs as wild as a calf with horns on its ass was so quiet.”
“I am very concerned as to how the champions will interpret his Highness’s will,” said the marquis, who was currently sporting an embarrassed expression.
“My son’s will might not be very pleasing to the proud champions. There may even be those who make excuses and reject his mustering order.”
“I’m sure they’re not going to do that, but I’m also sure that they won’t move easily.”
The king gave a slight nod, then answered with a determined voice. “Then we have to make them move.”
“If-”
“I will send messengers to them myself. I will make them gather in the name of the king.”
“If so, my work will be much easier, and his Highness will also thank you.”
“What is there to thank?” The king shook his head. “It was just a while ago that my child was seriously injured, finally waking up. His superficial wounds were healed by magic, but seeing as he had been cut so deeply by that sword, he can’t be fine already.”
Suddenly, the king’s face grew younger.
“But my son is having such a fierce time of it. He is preparing for the future, thinking that it is a waste of time to take care of his body. It takes a great deal to stop a heart as mighty as his with mere words.”
The king had said that he could still clearly see the prince fighting with the Penta Knight. He added that, even though his son’s own body had been covered in blood, he had not taken a step back; the king would never forget the Crown Prince’s appearance in that moment.
“In what world will this be the only time? He has survived so many ugly fights at the risk of his own life.”
At this, the marquis’ face also turned dark.
“I lift the ban imposed on the Crown Prince accessing confidential information as of now. Great Marshal, you are to spare no effort in helping him in everything he does.”
“Is there anything else, Your Majesty?” the marquis asked, and the king replied in a more determined tone.
“However, the command prohibiting his departure is still in full effect. Don’t deny him any support he needs, but make sure my son doesn’t get caught up in dangerous events in any way.”
“I always keep that in kind, and I will keep it in mind again, Sire!”
The king, finished with the rough briefing, suddenly looked behind him.
“Count Stuttgart.”
The palace knight commander, who had been standing silently by, bowed his head at the king’s call.
“Go.”
The old knight stiffened as he heard the king’s curt order.
“Don’t tell me you can’t leave me if I order you to. I don’t believe that your palace knights’ skills are so poor that they can’t protect me just because you are away for a while.”
Facing a king who gave no room for compromise, the count turned tail and left the room with a reluctant face. It seemed that he needed time to prepare his heart before he could face the prince he had once thrown out and stopped teaching for being an inferior student.
* * *
The first to respond to the mustering order was the commander of the Templars, stationed two days away from the royal palace.
“What else could have happened?”
York Willowden, Templar Commander, headed to the royal palace with his knights, even though he was very puzzled by the second mustering order to be issued within a single year.
“Go to the prince.”
The king met the Templars, said a few formal words of welcome, and instructed them to go straight to the palace of the first prince.
“Why did the Crown Prince ask for us?”
York Willowden once more led the Templars on, this time to the prince’s palace. He hardened when he saw the view through the wide-open door.
The first prince stood in the middle of his ruined palace.
“You are here! I’ve been waiting all this time after hearing you have arrived at the palace. Welcome, Count Willowden.”
The prince smiled as he welcomed them. The greeting was somehow eerie, and York Willowden couldn’t stop himself from looking around. The Crown Prince’s knights were garbed in battered armor, and the floor had turned into more of a plowed field than its previous marble splendor. Twisted pieces of iron lay scattered about. A strange light of pity passed through the other knights’ eyes as they saw the Templars.
“I will ask you Templars, what is more important: is it your pride and honor as knights,” York turned his head and saw that the prince spoke with a wide grin, “or is it a brighter future and greater glory for the kingdom?”
York Willowden answered without hesitation.
“For the glory of the Lion! Fight with lion’s claws! It is part of the oath we Templars take when we are first ordained.”
The prince simply smiled, as if he had known this all along.
“It sounds like you are saying that you will live for the kingdom – even if your honor and pride as a knight is dragged through the dirt. Did I understand properly?”
“Although such an expression is too extreme and radical for my tastes, it is not far different from the founding purpose of the Order of Templars.”
“So you assure me that the name of ‘Templar’ is synonymous with being the sword of the Leonberg Kingdom?”
York Willowden nodded in reply.
“That’s a good thing.”
At this, York soon realized his mistake.
“Eli,” the prince said, his voice echoing terribly, and the palace door slammed shut.
“From now on, I will treat you like a sword rather than a knight.”
York Willowden had seen Bernardo of the Eli family standing at the door; he now turned back to the Crown Prince.
“You will look to me as your hammer and your anvil.”
“What does your Highness mean?” York Willowden asked with a frown, and the Crown Prince laughed deeply.
“From now on, I mean to beat you without ceasing.”
The prince drew his sword.
“All the things I will do to you here are for you to be reborn as sharper swords.”
The sword that had become so famous in the kingdom that none didn’t know its name, Twilight, began to cry with a loud wave of sound.
“Please do not blame me.”
It was the moment when the fate of the Templars and York Willowden was decided.
* * *
“Hfoo.” Arwen Kirgayen looked around as she tried to catch her breath. The Templars scattered across the floor caught her eye. Next to them lay the palace knights and those from Balahard, all on the floor, all wearing warped armor pieces. There were only a handful of knights, including the champions, still holding their swords and standing on their two feet.
“Today is the first day, so let’s end it here. It will be more difficult tomorrow, so take a rest,” the prince said as he rasped his sword into its scabbard, turned around, and disappeared to his rooms.
“Huh. What the hell is this?” The commander of the Templar Knights looked at the empty spot where the prince had stood and laughed. Arwen sighed as she watched the scene because she saw the dissatisfaction and embarrassment that appeared on the faces of the Templars scattered over the floor. As it was, Arwen didn’t want to act high and mighty and so earn their resentment, so she went to stand before Count Willowden, who had once been her commander, and explained to him that these were pre-war preparations, a fact that the Crown Prince had not sufficiently mentioned.
“His Highness is concerned that if the skills of the knights of the kingdom do not advance, our casualties will increase when the war begins again.”
York Willowden responded with a sigh at her words, in a much calmer voice than Arwen had feared he would have.
“A few years ago, when his Highness first visited the Templar Castle… I directly told him that the name of the Templars would never fade because of a few defeats while dueling. Perhaps his Highness is thinking about this event as an extension of that day.”
Fortunately, it didn’t seem that York Willowden was greatly offended.
“I’m just concerned that if we neglect the proper procedures and forms and act outrageously like this, it may breed useless resentment,” Arwen observed.
York was embarrassed and dissatisfied because, some time ago, he could not wield his blade to curb the threat of the Penta Knight attacking the royal palace, and this made his sympathy for the prince’s concerns much greater.
If that wasn’t the case, Count Willowden might have stopped talking because Arwen, who could be said to be close to the prince, was in front of him.
Unlike other champions, the Templar Commander was a man who possessed a mind geared more toward the computational aspects of reality, for he was more like a politician than a knight.
“Tchu. I can see what you’re thinking when I look at your face.”
Your Willowden was a man with a depthless mind and greatly loyal; he could discern that which Arwen had left unsaid.
“I am also a knight. For me, there is only respect for His Highness, who gained victory against a Penta Knight when I had given up. How pleased I am with the opportunity to be taught by such a knight!”
However, contrary to Arwen’s assessment, York’s motivations weren’t just political. The aspiration and respect that flared up in his eyes were real.
“Of course, being in my later years, it is unpleasant to roll over the floor like this.”
York Willowden sighed, shook his head, and shouted, “How long are you going to lay around looking like ugly seals!”
The Templars’ eyes shone as they heard his words, and they rose to their feet.
When Arwen looked at the Templars, she suddenly realized that some of them who had seemed dissatisfied with the prince’s radical methods have now changed their minds. Not one complaint flowed from them. Their eyes blazed, just like their commander’s, and they all seemed eager to clash swords with the kingdom’s strongest knight, who had bested a Penta Knight.
Surely- Arwen suddenly turned her head. She watched as York Willowden readied his men and how easily he raised their spirits. Arwen, who had always thought he was solely political, was amazed at his current appearance as a knight. The thought surprised her that even in this current situation, Count Willowden was running complex calculations through his mind, though of a more tactical nature.
“This isn’t a complicated situation, but it does make me remember that I couldn’t keep the promise I had made to an old friend in his lifetime, but I will make sure to keep it now,” York Willowden told Arwen in passing, having felt her gaze.
For Arwen, it was hard to tell to what extent the man was sincere and how far he had calculated current events. However, in the midst of all this confusion, if there was one thing Arwen was sure of, it was that York Willowden would the reassuring ally of the Crown Prince in the near future.
The commander did not fail her expectations.
In response to the muster, the champions gathered at the first prince’s palace, and they couldn’t hide their troubled expressions after hearing of the prince’s proposal.
“Haha, it is true.”
The palace knight commander had been the nearest but was the last to arrive due to his duties. He gave a vain laugh, feeling embarrassed that he was now in a position where he would be taught by one to whom he had once given sword lessons.
“I don’t know about his Highness’s swordsmanship, but now I am too old to change my habits. Please take this into account,” said Count Joachim Schulz, the first champion, whom the prince had met for the first time at the recent banquet.
“Hmm.” Count Richter Lichstein, who had thought with the prince in the final battle against the Warlord, did not openly refuse proceedings but was not very pleased.
They all acknowledged the Crown Prince’s status, who had gained victory over a Penta Knight, and expressed subtle reluctance to be part of the event while paying their deepest respects to the prince.
“What’s wrong with becoming stronger?”
Eli seemed unable to understand these champions, but Arwen fully understood their embarrassment.
It was a separate matter from the reverence they felt for the Crown Prince. They were now to be taught by one less than half their age, which in a way, threw dirt on the many years they had spent wielding their swords. Then York Willowden came out.
“Now, now, don’t be like this. Come see me for a second.”
He spoke with the other champions one by one. And each time, a champion who had not been pleased with the current situation changed their attitude and showed their intention of joining the practice.
Arwen looked at York Willowden, wondering what the hell he had said to persuade them.
“He probably told them that they were acting like little boys and not upright knights, so I mustn’t be curious anymore,” Arwen muttered to herself. Seeing their expressions, it was somehow difficult for her to ask for details.
So Arwen consistently pretended to be unaware, even though she saw the changing attitudes of the champions.
And so, the training began.
The gifted champions’ resentment was poured out on York Willowden once they became desperately beaten by the prince’s sword.
“Wouldn’t it be better for me to roll over a dirt field than to roll in this puddle of blood?”
But York took it all in stride. The champions still remembered the words he had spoken, even if they became outraged and angered. So, along with the other knights, they became covered in dirt every day as they were battered to the floor.
Time passed in this manner.
At last, the champions who had rebelled became accustomed to the radical training method and to being constantly defeated and messed up.
“His Highness the prince must be a genius.”
“No one who has achieved this much in such a short period of time will be defeated by what the world throws at them.”
“It’s a talent that has never been seen in history. It’s simply amazing.”
Forgetting that they crashed face-down to the floor every day, the champions admired the amazing state of being Prince Adrian had.
“His dance poetry, which can be called his real power in battle, hasn’t come out yet, and he defeats us so easily?”
Bernardo Eli, who looked more grievous and gloomy than anyone else after facing the prince with all his heart, spoke in a poignant tone. “Since winning against the Penta Knight, his Highness has grown amazingly. Now it is hard to face him as an opponent, even without him reciting dance poems.”
relatively intact state, praised the Crown Prince with a shy face but in a voice full of pride. Except for Percival Altringen, whom the prince had excluded from these later duels due to a fear for his safety, all the gifted knights expressed their admiration for the Crown Prince. But even while they were talking, Arwen didn’t say a word.
She just always looked into the direction of the prince’s departure at the end of training with an anxious face. It was only a month or so since all the champions had gathered to start training, but in reality, this radical training began three months before that.
And the Crown Prince has not skipped training for a single day.
Others, for brief periods, would let go of their swords to take care of their bodies, but only the Crown Prince kept at it all the time. Just because he was the prince didn’t mean he wasn’t hurt.
He, too, suffered numerous small and large injuries in the midst of the intense training.
In recent weeks, the degree of his wounds has grown even more serious after the joining of the old men. Even if the wizards of the royal palace took care of the wounds, there was a limit to what they could heal. It was impossible to make the torn and damaged muscles and bones heal in just one day, although magic did heal the wounds superficially.
There was no way he couldn’t feel the pain of being cut and torn, and swinging his sword every day until his mana ran out couldn’t be painless.
It was surprising that he showed an overwhelming presence in the battle with the knights, which included many champions, with a damaged body. That was why Arwen’s concern ran so deep.
The Crown Prince is also a person. He is not a man forged out of iron.
It was natural for it to hurt when you are cut and for you to rest if you were hurting.
In fact, Arwen many times saw the prince frowning in pain, even if it was only the slight raising of an eyebrow whenever he was slashed or stabbed by a blade that drew blood.
Others never seemed to notice these signs. The depth of their age and the height to which the prince had risen, a height that even gifted knights could not dare to measure, made them blind.
Others didn’t notice, but the prince’s own knights knew him too well.
Unfortunately, however, there weren’t many who would dare face the truth about the Crown Prince’s state. Carls Ulrich fell out of the fights early on every time and couldn’t afford the effort to study the prince’s situation. Bernardo Eli wasn’t compassionate enough to think about it in the first place.
Arwen began to believe that even if the prince’s forearm was to be severed, he would just mumble, ‘Now I can’t fire a bow anymore.’ The intense knights of Winter Castle would never say anything; they were the same as he.
Only Adelia be aware of the Crown’s Prince’s state, but unfortunately, she wasn’t one who would ever oppose what her master was doing.
After all was said and done, Arwen was the only one left — but she couldn’t hold the prince back.
There had been a few times in the past when she came out and told him he was pushing himself too far, but this time, she couldn’t.
Arwen knew that when the prince had that anxious face as if he was chasing something, there wasn’t a word out of all words that would strike his ears.
“Not enough. We still lack a lot.”
Several times a day, the prince’s statement that he lacked challengers made Arwen unable to confront him. He was very nervous; he was quietly preparing for something soon to come.
Arwen didn’t know what, but she guessed it was something ominous.
Even in the war with an empire that ruled half the continent, the prince had been impatient to an unsettling degree, as if he could not endure existing without constantly exerting himself.
Several times now, Arwen has tried to ask the prince directly, but she couldn’t open her mouth to do so for some reason. One day, he spoke to her in a subdued tone, as if he had noticed her worries.
“Words have power, and there are things that make their existence clearer just by taking them out of our mouths. I don’t want to empower their existence with my words right now.”
However, in the day-to-day world, sometimes the answers that do not show their faces, no matter how much one worries about them, come to reveal themselves. And there is no universal law stating that the answers we come to face will be welcome ones.
That was exactly the case now.
One day, two months after the Crown Prince summoned the champions, a messenger came riding to the palace — with a red flag flapping behind his back, signaling an emergency.