Chapter 171

Chapter 171
### Chapter 171

Brod, who had moved his life to Asagrim from the far reaches of the frozen wastes, felt a deep sense of contentment regarding his role as a sentry.

In the grand hierarchy of the territory, he occupied the lowest tier, tasked primarily with walking the perimeter. Nevertheless, the position of a guard was a rare opening where he could actually apply the martial prowess he had spent years developing.

“We have it much better than our relatives who are stuck at the bottom of the pile trying to learn manual trades. We jumped straight into the workforce, and the coins arrive like clockwork.”

“No kidding. We’re definitely the favored ones,” remarked Tula, who had been recruited at the same time as Brod, with a firm nod.

Most of their fellow displaced kin had been forced to abandon the path of the warrior. Lacking a venue to display the fighting talents they had polished since childhood, they were now struggling to grasp the fundamentals of basic labor. By comparison, Brod and his partner had already secured their status as established professionals, leaving the others in their dust.

The duo was frequently the target of jealousy among their social circle, a reality they embraced with visible pride.

However, the life of a sentinel wasn’t without its frustrations.

—Waaaaaaaah!

“…It’s still a crying shame we’re stuck out here during the festivities. I heard the legendary King’s Great Warrior is actually performing.”

Tula’s frame sagged as the thunderous applause drifted over the high walls. Even though he was currently just a common watchman, he still carried the soul of a fighter. It was only natural to crave a glimpse of the techniques used by the King’s Great Warrior, the individual rumored to be the pinnacle of strength.

“It’s unavoidable. Such is the burden of the watch. Besides, isn’t it during these moments, when everyone else is distracted, that our vigilance is most critical?”

“You’re right, of course, but it still stings…”

Despite Brod’s logical stance, Tula couldn’t quite mask his sense of loss. Brod felt the same pang of curiosity, so he chose not to lecture his friend. In truth, he was just as eager to witness the myth of the King’s Great Warrior in person.

“Look on the bright side: His Majesty is granting us triple pay this month. Let’s use that bonus to treat our families to a feast.”

“We should. My boy has been demanding all sorts of toys lately. That little spitfire never threw fits like that back in the snowfields.”

“That’s only because there was nothing worth wanting back there. If I’d been a child in a place like this, I’d have been pestering my father for one of those mechanical horses too.”

“Fair point. Those wooden horses are impressive. You roll them along like a hoop, and the little foal’s legs go clatter-clatter…”

The pair suddenly went rigid mid-sentence. They had caught sight of a faint, pale figure moving toward them from the horizon.

Brod and Tula leaned closer, sharing a low-voiced observation.

“Who’s that? The hour is a bit late for a visitor to the graves.”

“Doesn’t look like a smith, either. A craftsman would at least be hauling a bag of tools.”

As the individual drew nearer, their skepticism intensified. The person carried no supplies—an absurdity for any traveler—yet their garments were oddly lavish. Even more peculiar was that despite the apparent wealth, the stranger’s clothing was so thin they were visibly trembling in the chill.

“They certainly don’t look like a local. Should we intercept them for an interrogation?”

“Let’s hold steady for a moment. Might just be a wanderer who’s lost his mind.”

The two remained motionless, poised to spring and restrain the intruder at the slightest provocation.

A moment later, the stranger arrived at the threshold and bellowed with every ounce of his strength.

“I am the Legitimate Successor of the Empire, Claude Fin Bay Astria! Unbar the gates this instant and announce my presence to Lord Lucian!”

Claude fully anticipated that the sentries would collapse to their knees in terror the second his title left his lips.

He was the sole rightful heir to the Imperial throne—for all intents and purposes, the future Emperor. Any peasant with a shred of intelligence should have felt their joints turn to water and their thoughts vanish in the presence of such high-born majesty.

But, in defiance of his expectations, the guards simply stared at him with blank, uncomprehending expressions.

“The Empire’s… what? What was that name again?”

“I’m not sure. Sounds like he’s the successor of some minor house.”

“Is it a famous one?”

“Don’t ask me. I’ve never heard of it in my life.”

“…!?”

Claude was struck by a wave of profound shock at their casual banter.

He was used to being looked upon with genuine awe when he revealed his lineage. He had seen men look distressed, as if they had encountered a plague, or freeze in indecision.

But this was the first time he had ever dealt with people who possessed no knowledge of his existence whatsoever.

Gritting his teeth, Claude attempted to be even more explicit.

“…I am the First Prince! The blood son of the Deceased Emperor!”

“First Prince? Deceased Emperor? That rings a bell.”

“Oh, wait, I remember. That’s the title for the ruler who passed away a while back.”

“The ruler? So this fellow is the ruler’s kid?”

Claude’s complexion turned a furious shade of crimson. To think a common soldier would speak of the Emperor, the sovereign of the Empire, as if he were some casual acquaintance from the next village over.

‘To think Lucian has allowed his subordinates to become so disrespectful toward the Imperial Line!’

It was a ridiculous error in judgment. The migrants from the snowy wastes had spent their lives completely disconnected from the Empire’s politics. To them, any power or entity other than Lucian felt like a distant, foreign land. They naturally felt no devotion to the Imperial Family, discussing the Emperor with the same detached tone they would use for a foreign chieftain.

Oblivious to this, Claude roared in a fit of rage.

“That a mere sentry can defame the Imperial Family without a hint of remorse speaks volumes of the Duke’s own failures in leadership! Summon Duke Lucian here this moment! As the Rightful Heir of the Empire, I shall demand an accounting for this insolence!”

“…An accounting? You’re going to charge our Grace with a crime?”

“Hold your tongue! I am finished speaking with a low-born wretch like you! Now, fetch the Duke—!”

*Slap!*

Claude’s demand was cut short. A violent force caused a burst of light to explode behind his eyes.

Stunned and unable to process the physical assault, he was hit by a second wave.

*Slap!*

Another explosion of white. A second later, a sharp, throbbing heat surged through his face, paired with the iron tang of blood. Only then did Claude realize his lip had been split open by the strike.

“W-What do you think you’re—”

“You delusional fool, how dare you wag your tongue so carelessly? You’re going to hold His Grace accountable? A little rat like you? Is this a joke?”

“Ack, gack!”

Claude was powerless as Brod’s massive fist bunched the fabric of his collar. He attempted to trigger his necklace to summon a protective field, but Brod’s open palm was swifter.

*Slap! Slap! Slap!*

“Guh, ack!”

“You’re clearly a weakling who hasn’t even touched a hilt, yet you’ve got the gall to speak like that! Go ahead, say it one more time!”

“Wait… hurk!”

“Actually, what you said is quite funny. What? The Emperor’s son? Why would such a grand noble arrive in the North completely alone without a single attendant? At least make your lies sound plausible!”

“Gurgle!”

Claude tried frantically to offer an explanation through his fading awareness, but his efforts were futile. Brod and Tula had no desire to hear his defense. Under the relentless storm of blows, Claude’s endurance failed, and he slipped into unconsciousness.

“What? He passed out from just that? What a pathetic whelp.”

“What’s the move here? I’d love to just kick him back out into the drifts.”

“Let’s toss him in the holding cells for now and notify the Captain. He blasphemed against His Grace, so I’m certain he’ll receive a proper sentence.”

Regardless of their fury, they were still bound by their duties as guards. Unless they were dealing with a known assassin, they lacked the legal standing for an immediate execution. Since he had slandered Lucian, he wouldn’t be escaping punishment anyway. By locking him up and reporting the incident, he would be handled without them needing to do anything further.

“We should strip him and put him in prisoner’s rags first. Where did he even find finery like this?”

“Stole it, most likely. He might have other crimes on his head, so let’s bundle his clothes and trinkets together to show the Captain.”

Their plan finalized, the two men slung the limp form of Claude over their shoulders and marched through the gate—intent on placing the delusional offender in the cage where he belonged.

—

Roughly at the time Claude was being hauled away by the sentries, Lucian was seated, waiting for the martial tournament to commence.

From his elevated position of honor looking down at the stadium, which was already vibrating with anticipation, Lucian surveyed the crowd and clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“Even after my warnings, their gazes are still clouded by avarice.”

Among the warriors hoping to challenge Felicia were numerous liege men and heirs from various noble houses. He could practically taste the ambition swirling in the air—the desperate hunger to claim the mantle of Sword Saint and elevate their family names.

To Lucian, the display was moving past amusing and toward the pathetic.

“I can’t fathom where they find such arrogance when they haven’t even accurately measured their rival’s prowess. Don’t you agree, brother?”

Prompted by Lucian’s sudden inquiry, Tristan answered with a rigid expression.

“…It’s an inevitable outcome. Until quite recently, there have been very few instances where these knights were forced to fight for their lives.”

At most, they had engaged in border skirmishes or put down minor peasant revolts. Beyond that, their experience was limited to polite sparring or duels born of personal slights. They had never had the misfortune of running into the true monsters lurking in the shadows of the world.

“If a gifted knight hasn’t encountered a superior opponent, it’s only natural for them to believe they are unbeatable. Furthermore, this is the North, a land that worships power. I think a knight with a bit of a reputation here has every right to fantasize.”

“The right to fantasize, is it?”

Lucian let out a brief, dry laugh at Tristan’s assessment. Taking the laughter as a personal insult, Tristan’s brow furrowed.

“What do you find so entertaining?”

“Oh, I wasn’t belittling them. I just realized that you and I are observing this from completely different vantage points.”

“Different vantage points?”

“Yes. Your perception is still anchored to the day Felicia had her knight induction ceremony.”

“What does that—”

—Uwaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

Tristan instinctively raised his hands to his ears as a sudden, earth-shaking roar erupted from the spectators. Other aristocrats nearby also flinched at the unexpected wall of sound.

Turning their gaze to identify the cause, they saw Felicia walking out into the center of the arena.

‘What? Why is the crowd so hysterical just because she showed up?’

‘Even if she’s the woman chosen as the next Sword Saint, isn’t this reaction a bit excessive?’

The visiting nobles looked confused by the near-religious fervor. Such a deafening response couldn’t be sparked by mere interest. There had to be a catalyst that set their spirits on fire—a legendary triumph or a heroic intervention.

The nobles’ confusion was resolved shortly after.

—The Supreme Warrior! The King’s Great Warrior!

—The Deity of the Blade! The Dragon’s Right Hand!

—Receive our adoration! Receive our adoration!

—Accept the worship of us all!

“…!”

The nobles were paralyzed as they heard the chants, which were powerful enough to make their very bones vibrate.

The citizens of Asagrim weren’t honoring Felicia because of a specific deed or because she had rescued them from a crisis. They were offering their absolute devotion simply because they were entirely ensnared by the raw, unadulterated strength she radiated.

As this realization settled in, a terrifying new question formed in the minds of the visiting lords.

‘…Just how much power must a single warrior possess to be worshipped as if they were a god?’