Chapter 174

Chapter 174
## Chapter 174

Clash!

“Gah!”

Lucian observed as yet another combatant tumbled to the ground before him.

The count of challengers had long since slipped his mind, though it was a stretch to describe any of these bouts as actual contests.

Even so, the fallen man’s expression beamed with pure delight. He stood alone as the only individual capable of parrying blows with Felicia for seven consecutive exchanges.

Felicia herself allowed a thin smile to touch her lips as she offered a word of approval.

“Your talent is remarkable. If you persist in refining your blade work in this manner, the day may come when you can truly stand against me.”

“Y-you do me too much honor, my lady!”

“That shall suffice for this afternoon. I anticipate the hour of our next engagement.”

“Understood, ma’am!”

The warrior, his eyes shimmering with moisture at Felicia’s endorsement, scrambled off the raised platform.

He appeared at least a decade and a half senior to Felicia, yet their interaction bore the distinct mark of a grandmaster addressing a novice pupil.

Regardless, no observer found the dynamic peculiar. Chronological age held no weight for the woman who occupied the absolute zenith of the path of the sword. Instead, those watching merely cast looks saturated with resentment and longing at the man who had earned her recognition.

“Who is next?”

“…”

Following Felicia’s invitation, not a single knight moved toward the combat circle.

Felicia spoke again, her gaze sweeping across the ranks of the men who had yet to test their mettle.

“Do you not intend to face me?”

“…I was instructed that throwing oneself into a hopeless struggle is not an act of bravery, but one of madness. I choose to step down.”

“It appears you lack even the basic aptitude required to extract a lesson from a loss.”

The complexion of the knight who had spoken of madness flushed a deep, embarrassed crimson.

Once a practitioner of the blade reached a specific echelon of mastery, they gained the ability to identify their own flaws and grow through the experience of being bested. To surrender without a struggle suggested he did not even possess that foundational level of capability.

Those who had opted to withdraw felt the urge to protest, yet they could not summon a single valid argument. It was an undeniable reality—they were not skilled enough to even find a spark of inspiration by losing to her.

Ultimately, their motivation for stepping back was the dread of damaging their reputations without receiving any benefit in return. What defense could they possibly offer?

‘To hell with this, you have to at least comprehend how you were beaten to gain anything.’

‘All I witness is a streak of radiance followed by the end of the world. What knowledge is there to find in that?’

‘Besides, some of those who went up earlier are even less capable than we are…’

As if sensing the unspoken bitterness of those who had yielded, Felicia’s voice cut through the air with an icy edge.

“Pitiable. Is the preservation of your pride more vital to you than a clash with a master that could spark a future breakthrough? Do you still possess the audacity to claim the title of knight?”

“…!”

“If your desire is to engage in political maneuvering from the safety of a chair, then remove the blades from your hips this very moment. A knight is a figure who stands at the front of the charge to swing their steel, not a coward who crawls through the dirt to retrieve their shattered ego.”

The men who had forfeited shook with a sense of deep mortification, but when it came down to it, they could produce no counterpoint and simply lowered their heads in shame.

It was they who had sidestepped the chance to cross swords with the Sword Saint because they feared the sting of public failure. That choice had been rooted in cold political strategy, not the code of chivalry.

When the heavy quiet continued, Felicia turned without a word and exited the combat zone.

The abrupt conclusion of the trials left the patriarchs of the various noble houses who were spectating in a state of utter confusion.

“Hold on, even if there are no more warriors, can it truly conclude in this fashion?”

“And why shouldn’t it?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Lucian gave a casual shrug to the bewildered noblemen.

“Sir Felicia took her place there to receive those who wished to challenge her. Since no more challengers remain, she is taking her leave. I fail to see an issue with this sequence of events.”

“B-but, surely a concluding address or some formal remark is expected…”

“Do you truly anticipate such pleasantries from the Sword Saint?”

At the mention of that legendary title, the assembled lords fell into a collective silence.

Had this been a typical victor of a standard tournament, it would have been common courtesy to offer a few words to the cheering masses.

But the person in question was the Sword Saint. The preeminent blade of the era, who had no further heights to scale, had essentially been coerced into participating in an event that provided her with no personal gain.

Before fretting over social graces, they ought to be thankful she had bothered to grant the challengers any of her time at all.

“By the way, I am inquiring merely as a precaution—does anyone present still harbor the belief that Sir Felicia is unworthy of her title?”

“…”

How could anyone?

She was a warrior who had effortlessly dismantled a parade of adversaries without even breaking a sweat. If a knight of such caliber was not the Sword Saint, then who could possibly claim the right?

To contest her position now would go beyond being shameless; it would be a lapse in judgment that would result in one being labeled a fool by everyone present.

When no dissent arose, Lucian rose to his feet and addressed the room.

“Then we shall wrap up the contests here. In two days’ time, Sir Felicia will perform a rite to dedicate the Fairy Light Sword at the resting place of Sir Eisen. I would be grateful if you all attended the ceremony.”

“…Yes, Your Grace.”

Following Lucian’s announcement, the lords bowed low, forcing down their own disappointment. They understood once more that the mantle of the Sword Saint, which they had briefly fantasized about, was a peak far beyond their reach.

—

Lucian, having assigned the final details of the event to his subordinates, made his way toward his private chambers.

He caught the sound of heavy, deliberate footsteps echoing from down the corridor. Lucian recognized the gait immediately and felt a small smile tugging at his lips.

‘Dennis.’

The commander of the network of informants the previous monarch had embedded among the palace staff.

The man who had risked his cover to reveal the Second Prince’s conspiracies and had attempted to warn Lucian against traveling to the heart of the kingdom.

He was also the individual Lucian had privately informed regarding the First Prince’s location in the cells, entrusting him with the royal’s oversight.

The moment Dennis caught sight of Lucian, he hurried forward and let out a shout before the Duke could even greet him.

“Duke Valdek! What is the meaning of this behavior?!”

“The meaning of what? Why are you approaching me with such hostility so suddenly?”

Faced with Dennis’s visible fury, Lucian acted as if he were entirely oblivious to the source of the man’s agitation. This nonchalance only served to make Dennis’s tone more aggressive.

“Why is that individual being held in such a state?! If Your Grace truly remains a steadfast servant of the throne, you must immediately grant him the care that is appropriate for his lineage!”

Despite his obvious anger, Dennis referred to the First Prince only as ‘that individual,’ keeping the royal’s identity guarded. It indicated that while he was confused by the secrecy surrounding the Prince’s imprisonment, he would follow Lucian’s lead for the time being.

Lucian felt a surge of relief at Dennis’s show of situational awareness.

“I am pleased. It appears you are still a man who possesses a sense of reason.”

“Do not evade my inquiry! What Your Grace has committed is…!”

“Hardly the behavior of a devoted vassal. However, I have my justifications.”

“What possible justification could ever outweigh the duty owed to the bloodline of the Emperor?!”

Even a man like Dennis would not dare utter such words in front of the other noble lords. Commanding someone to stay loyal regardless of the fate of their own household was a verbal strike that would make even the most dedicated supporter reconsider their path.

Nevertheless, Lucian was a man who had been the recipient of immense favor from the former Emperor. He felt a profound duty to demonstrate his devotion to the throne in a measure that matched what he had been given.

Even if that duty required him to manage agents like Dennis.

“If Your Grace is unable to offer a legitimate explanation, I will find myself with no alternative but to announce his presence to the world!”

“You are welcome to do that. However, before you take that step, I ask that you serve at his side for a period of just three days.”

“…What are you implying by that?”

“Even if I were to describe the situation, you would not truly comprehend it. I want you to perceive it for yourself. After seventy-two hours, the realization will come to you quite naturally.”

Dennis stared at Lucian with a look of pure confusion, but Lucian did not waver. He simply reiterated that Dennis would see the logic behind the decision once he spent significant time with the First Prince.

Eventually, Dennis had no choice but to exhale a weary sigh and offer a nod.

“I shall follow your instruction for the moment, but I truly hope there is a purpose to this trial.”

“Have no fear. I am not merely spinning tales to delay the inevitable.”

To be perfectly honest, Lucian was skeptical that it would even take the full three days. Considering the First Prince’s volatile temperament, he would likely reveal his true colors without even bothering to evaluate the man standing before him.

Once he was certain that Dennis had departed for the subterranean cells, Lucian issued an instruction to a page waiting near his office door.

“Summon the warriors from the Black Lions who were recently brought into our service.”

The groundwork was laid; now it was time to collect the necessary declarations. Not for the purpose of convincing an outside party, but specifically to establish that ‘Lucian was a witness to the facts.’

—

The reason Lucian had suggested a three-day window to Dennis was straightforward. He had assumed that even a man like the First Prince would maintain some level of caution after the hardships he had endured.

He believed that even with a loyalist as fervent as Dennis, the Prince would spend at least one day gauging the man’s intentions.

However, Lucian’s estimate was shattered almost instantly. In less than twenty-four hours, the First Prince began spewing utter lunacy.

“So… His Highness the First Prince gave Dennis the order to execute me?”

“That is correct.”

Vincent, a former member of the Black Lions who had recently taken a position in Lucian’s household, inclined his head. Even while delivering his report, Vincent could not mask his look of total disbelief.

“The sound carried a bit strangely because I was monitoring from a distance, but I heard him clearly. He ordered that Your Grace’s head be severed and displayed upon the battlements of the fortress.”

“Was it not merely an outburst triggered by the heat of the moment? He has always possessed a habit of striking out with words whenever his temper flares.”

“It would be far simpler if he were merely being difficult. The issue lies in the fact that the strategy he outlined was remarkably detailed.”

The First Prince’s strategy was as follows:

First, he intended to dispatch personal letters to the lords of the North to ensure his current location was widely publicized. If the nobility demanded a clarification, even Lucian would be forced to release him from his cell.

The very second he stood before the public, he planned to label Lucian a traitor to the crown and command the other lords to assist in his immediate execution.

Naturally, he anticipated that Lucian would try to coerce him into silence before his release, but he planned to disregard every threat. He claimed he held no fear of a traitor’s intimidation.

“…Leaving aside the fact that the scheme is juvenile, this was not something uttered simply because he was frustrated.”

“I see. It appears His Highness has actually applied some mental effort to this.”

Sarcasm dripped from Lucian’s voice.

What? Proclaim him a traitor and kill him the moment he stepped into the light?

‘Don’t make me laugh. There is no reality in which he could end my life in the heart of Asagrim, regardless of whatever legal justification he thinks he holds.’

The foundation of the plan was broken, but the most farcical part was the execution itself.

Suppose everything went flawlessly and the Northern lords actually converged on Asagrim to put pressure on Lucian. If the Prince branded him a traitor right then and there, would they all truly scramble to assist the First Prince?

‘Preposterous. They would be cut down where they stood.’

Regardless of how much pressure they applied, the lords would be required to enter Lucian’s lands with only a small protective detail. In other words, the moment the First Prince went public, everyone’s survival would effectively rest in Lucian’s hands.

In a situation like that, who would be foolish enough to step forward just because he demanded an execution?

Even if they had every intention of following the command, they would remain silent, return to their own strongholds, and then mobilize their forces. Naturally, the First Prince would remain trapped in Lucian’s grasp after issuing such an order.

There was no need to detail exactly what would happen to the First Prince within the walls of Asagrim after that.

“What was Dennis’s reaction to the Prince’s command?”

“He attempted to talk him out of it several times before finally giving up. Then he moved to come here at once.”

“He tried to seek me out?”

“I purposefully made my presence known to him and told him to wait, as I would be the one to report first. He is currently standing by outside to speak with Your Grace.”

“Excellent work.”

Lucian smiled at Vincent’s quick thinking. As expected of a veteran of the Black Lions who excelled in these delicate matters, he was highly capable.

Lucian dismissed Vincent and had the waiting Dennis shown into the room. The man’s face, which had been flushed with righteous anger before, was now a ghostly shade of white.

Before Lucian could utter a single word, Dennis dropped to his knees and let out a desperate plea.

“Duke Valdek! I beg of you, suppress your rage and hold dear the memory of the former Emperor’s kindness!”