Chapter 173

Chapter 173
## Chapter 173

Within the modern landscape of the Empire, those driven by thirst for power typically utilize one of three specific rationales to validate their military maneuvers.

The first group consists of those who champion a distant relative of the imperial bloodline, asserting that their chosen candidate is the rightful heir in an attempt to seize the role of Regent.

The second group demands a formal inquiry into the Second Prince, claiming that only through his interrogation can the true testament of the deceased Emperor be unearthed and the facts brought to light.

The third group adopts the mantle of the steadfast patriot, declaring their intent to liberate the true successor, the First Prince, and protect the legacy of the former monarch.

‘While each sounds reasonable on the surface, the truth is that none hold real weight except for the third option.’

Regarding the first scenario, the noble branches being put forward are far too disconnected from the primary line of descent.

Lords who had never even heard of these minor royals would refuse to recognize their authority, and the transparent avarice driving the movement was plain for all to see. Naturally, while certain factions might align themselves for financial gain, genuine devotion to the cause was non-existent.

The second scenario suffered from similar flaws.

It was arguably less convincing than the first, as it merely stalled for time without providing a definitive path forward. It served as a flimsy, temporary shield until a more substantial reason for war could be manufactured.

‘The only honorable path is backing the First Prince, which is my current stance… though, in truth, even those people don’t actually care about saving him.’

The Great Families, possessing the resources and influence to achieve their goals, universally gravitated toward the first justification. Having finally slipped their imperial chains, they were not foolish enough to volunteer for a new set of shackles.

Consequently, the bulk of the forces claiming to rescue the First Prince were actually minor houses, lacking the individual strength to defy the Imperial Family. Their goal wasn’t a heartfelt reunion with the First Prince; they simply required a bulletproof moral high ground to discourage neighborly aggression.

By adopting a cause that no one could openly criticize, they made it socially and politically expensive for any conqueror to strike them. This defensive maneuver was surprisingly functional, keeping many smaller domains safe from the hunger of their peers.

Still, every benefit has a drawback. This third path was not without its complications.

“Because they have pledged themselves to the First Prince, they are stripped of the right to refuse if His Highness issues a direct command.”

“That is the toll for playing the part of the loyalist. Should they attempt to pivot later, they won’t just be mocked; they will lose every shred of reputation in these volatile times. They have effectively trapped themselves in a checkmate.”

Raymond, standing at Lucian’s side, contributed to the analysis. The cold sweat of his earlier anxiety had dried, yet his frame still shivered slightly, the lingering impact of previous shocks still clinging to him.

“To be fair, even if it is a checkmate, it seemed like a sound plan to me. The odds of the First Prince slipping out of the capital, which is firmly under the Second Prince’s thumb, were near zero.”

“I held the same view. If there were anyone skilled enough to facilitate the First Prince’s flight, they would have used those skills to further their own station first.”

The Second Prince was capable, certainly, but he wasn’t some supernatural entity capable of predicting every shadow or holding the entire Empire in a mental vice. Had a coalition of talented nobles truly tried, they could have successfully spirited the First Prince away.

The core issue was that in this era of strife, no noble of merit would ever hitch their wagon to a disaster like the First Prince. Only those devoid of skill or influence—the desperate souls hunting for a miracle—would bother with him.

The Second Prince could crush nobles of that low caliber without breaking a sweat.

“…And yet, against the odds, he got out. Do you suspect the use of a magical artifact?”

“It’s the most logical conclusion. If he had tried any conventional method, he would have been seized during the chase or simply died from the physical strain.”

“Agreed. It is the only explanation for how he crossed the distance to the North entirely on his own.”

The First Prince was a man who lacked the basic life skills to even fix himself a plate of food. Regardless of how well he hid from his brothers’ men, traveling such a distance without a retinue would have resulted in his starvation long before he reached the border. His arrival in the North in one piece was the ultimate evidence of a magical artifact’s intervention.

Noticing Lucian’s quiet reflection, Raymond’s face clouded with uncertainty.

“Actually… to be precise, His Highness isn’t exactly ‘in one piece’ in the way you might expect.”

“What? Did a predator attack him?”

“It isn’t quite that dramatic. It is something you really have to see for yourself.”

Lucian tilted his head, intrigued by Raymond’s hesitant phrasing. If the injury wasn’t life-threatening, what could possibly be the issue?

Moments later, Lucian reached the subterranean holding cells and approached the chamber housing the First Prince. Through the bars, he saw a man in coarse prisoner’s clothing sitting with his back to the entrance.

“Your Highness?”

“…”

Lucian addressed him with courtesy, but the figure didn’t stir. It was unclear if this was a deliberate snub or if the man had simply drifted off into sleep.

“Your Highness? Are you resting?”

“…Who zhaid… I’m zhleeping!”

“I beg your pardon?”

Lucian blinked, his question escaping him automatically at the sound of that distorted, whistling voice. Beyond the sheer difficulty of parsing the words, he couldn’t imagine why the Prince was making such a sound.

Frustrated by the lack of an immediate response, the figure spun around, his voice rising in a shout.

“Duh-ke! Gazhe upon thiz face! The wretchez under your rule dared to…!”

“Pfft!”

The moment Lucian caught sight of Claude’s features, he had to bite his lip to keep from howling with laughter. The Prince’s face was so hideously puffed up it put Lucian in mind of a loaf of bread that had suffered a disaster in the oven.

Witnessing Lucian’s frame tremble with muffled amusement, Claude’s temper flared. He tried to continue his tirade but abruptly clamped his jaw shut. He clearly realized that the more he spoke, the more ridiculous he sounded.

Struggling to find his composure, Lucian managed to choke out, “B-bring… pfft… fetch a healing potion for His Highness immediately!”

—

The efficacy of the tonic prepared by Ian was far beyond anything Claude had experienced in the imperial palace. The swelling vanished almost instantly, and the throbbing pain was wiped away as if it had never existed.

However, Claude was so gripped by a burning fury that he couldn’t appreciate the medical miracle.

“Duke Lucian, this—I—at the entrance, at the gates…!”

With his skin a deep, angry crimson, Claude barked out fragmented sentences. His rage was so overwhelming he seemed unable to find a starting point for his grievances.

Lucian remained composed and waited, watching as Claude took several jagged breaths, his eyes wide and fixed.

“Duke! I want the heads of those gatekeepers severed this instant! Bring them to me!”

“Please, try to settle your nerves. What exactly did those guards do to merit such a sentence?”

“Are you blind?! A common sentry should not even presume to walk in my shadow, yet they had the audacity to…!”

The shame of admitting he had been physically overpowered was clearly too much for his pride, and Claude trailed off, unable to voice the actual event.

Lucian attempted to pacify the volatile Prince.

“First, I must ask you to recount your journey here. What has transpired within the capital?”

“Is this a cross-examination?!”

“Not at all, it is—”

“Quiet! Just release me from this cage! And I want the heads of those two men I mentioned! We will talk only after that is done!”

Lucian sighed internally at Claude’s behavior; the man clearly had no interest in a mutual dialogue. Previously, the Prince had shown at least a shred of restraint, but even that thin veneer had evaporated. It seemed that with the Emperor gone—the only authority Claude actually feared—he felt zero need to mask his arrogance.

‘Communication is going to be impossible at this rate.’

In Claude’s reality, Lucian was nothing more than a servant bound by a debt of total submission. Unless that core perception was shattered, a real conversation could never happen. He would continue to scream for Lucian to act like a loyal dog.

‘I had hoped to show him genuine hospitality, as a tribute to the kindness the late Emperor showed me, but…’

Lucian stood up, letting out a weary breath. He had attempted the path of kindness, but if the Prince refused it, he would have to change tactics.

Watching Lucian rise, Claude snapped at him, likely misinterpreting the move as compliance.

“Unlock this door, Duke. I am not known for my patience.”

“…I am well aware of that. Which is precisely why I intend to help you cultivate some.”

“What?”

“I have pressing matters to attend to, so I cannot fulfill Your Highness’s requests at this moment. My apologies, but I will assign servants to your care; feel free to direct your immediate needs to them.”

“Y-you intend to leave me in this dungeon?”

“Please forgive me.”

Claude stared at Lucian with sheer disbelief, but Lucian didn’t waste time on a lengthy justification. Anything he said would only be met with a barrage of vitriol.

As Lucian exited the cell area with Raymond, Claude’s shrill screams followed them up the corridor.

“Traitor! Do you realize the gravity of your actions?! To turn on the crown after all the favor the late Emperor bestowed upon you…!”

Ignoring the insults as they faded, Lucian ascended the stone steps. Fortunately, the heavy soundproofing of the facility meant the shouting vanished the moment he cleared the top floor.

Once they were back in the open air, Lucian turned to Raymond.

“Have Dennis assigned to wait on the First Prince.”

“Dennis? Who are you referring to?”

“The informant the late Emperor embedded among the household staff. The man who recently came forward.”

“Oh, him!”

Raymond finally placed the face. When the Second Prince had staged that elaborate trap by mimicking the First Prince, Dennis was the staff member who had stepped forward to warn Lucian. He had even claimed to possess a magical device for communicating with the First Prince.

“His devotion to the throne is unshakable; he will provide the First Prince with excellent service.”

“Wait, isn’t that a risk? His loyalty lies with the First Prince, not with you, Grace. If the situation shifts, he might betray us to serve the Prince’s whims.”

“Betray us to serve the First Prince? In what capacity?”

“Well…”

Raymond began to list the dangers but stopped himself. Upon reflection, even if the First Prince wanted to strike at Lucian, he possessed no leverage to do so.

The houses that had sworn to support the First Prince were all minor players. Furthermore, their support was a political shield for their own borders, not a sign of true fealty. Even if they were loyal, they lacked the military might to offer the Prince even the most basic protection.

“If he is a truly devoted subject who has the Prince’s best interests at heart, he will counsel the Prince to remain under my protection, regardless of how he is treated. Relying on a weak servant who simply says ‘yes’ is a surefire way to end up dead.”

“The First Prince doesn’t strike me as the sort of man who takes good advice, no matter how sound it is.”

“It makes no difference. If it reaches that point, Dennis and the others will see the truth—that the First Prince lacks even the basic instinct for survival, let alone the mind for politics.”

A subject’s duty was to the Emperor and his will, but there were breaking points. A loyalist might put up with unfair demands or embarrassing greed. However, it was a different matter entirely when a ruler’s incompetence reached the level of being a suicide pact for the nation.

A loyalist’s ultimate oath was to the imperial line itself, not just the person currently wearing the crown. In desperate times, ensuring the survival of the bloodline was a higher virtue than obeying the specific tantrums of a monarch.

‘It would be ideal if they grew disillusioned by the First Prince’s antics, but they likely won’t abandon him entirely because of their debt to the late Emperor.’

At most, they would find a middle ground—ignoring his irrational commands while focusing on his physical safety. For Lucian, that specific brand of compromise from the loyalists was the perfect outcome.

Regardless, according to the very justification Lucian had used to rise, he would never lay a finger on the First Prince.

‘If I navigate this carefully, I can secure my political legitimacy while reaching a stable arrangement with the loyalist faction…’

—Waaaaaaaah!

A thunderous explosion of cheers pulled Lucian from his internal mapping. By the time he reached the arena to investigate, the noise had begun to settle.

He didn’t have to search for an explanation. A nearby minor lord, his face flushed with the thrill of the spectacle, began explaining without being asked.

“S-Sir Felicia went up against a knight! He actually held his ground for five full exchanges!”

“Really? Is that so?”

“It was breathtaking! You missed a truly spectacular display…!”

Lucian offered a small, somewhat cynical smile as he watched the excited noble.

Did the man even remember the original point? This gathering was supposed to be a platform for those who doubted Felicia to challenge her claim as the Sword Saint.

And yet now, instead of viewing themselves as her peers, they were acting as if a knight was a hero just for surviving five swings of her blade.