2. Adolescence
***
The cheerful music of minstrels, the castle adorned with extravagant luxuries, and the multicolored magic stones glowing like fairy lights…
The festival held at Saxen Castle to celebrate Dale's tenth birthday was the epitome of pomp and ceremony—something the Duke of Saxen personally despised.
It was not for themselves, but for the guests who would be arriving.
"Oh ho, as expected of His Grace, the Duke of Saxen!"
"My, look at these dishes!"
The Emperor's people. It wasn't hard to understand what that meant.
They were the largest faction within the Empire—central nobles of the imperial capital who formed the core of the Emperor's loyalists.
"Though it doesn't compare to the palace, it's hard to believe this is the middle of the northern frontier!"
"Indeed!"
Draped in expensive velvet and silk, they acted as if they were the stars of the celebration, unable to hide their excitement.
They knew better than anyone that they were visiting in the name of the Emperor. That was the source of their value, and even the Duke of Saxen was no exception.
"I feel foolish for worrying about this frozen frontier!"
The central nobles of the Empire often compared the Duke's territory to his political standing.
A vast land with little practical value.
One of the Empire's great nobles, yet a political outsider who chose isolation in the northern frontier.
The Empire's strongest military force, and simultaneously the most feared and shunned—master of the Black Tower.
Even so, the fact remained that he was a grand prince of the Empire. No matter how much black magic and necromancy were reviled, their military value could not be denied.
This tug-of-war between wariness and reverence was the reality of the Duke of Saxen's position within the Empire.
The Black Duke sat on his throne, gazing down at them with emotionless eyes.
Nobles who roamed his castle like it was their own, indulging in merriment.
Of course, most of the nobles present posed no real threat to the Duke. What he truly guarded against was not them, but the meaning behind their presence.
A silent warning.
A message from the imperial family that they would not tolerate the insult to the Holy Swordsman.
──And the messenger who understood that message best appeared before the Duke.
"I humbly greet His Grace, the Duke of Saxen."
A red-haired man bowed respectfully before the throne. As he smiled, the eyes of the noblewomen around him turned toward him.
"Welcome, Marquis Eurys."
Standing beside his father, Dale offered a mechanical greeting and quietly clenched his jaw.
Despite his gentle and soft appearance, Dale had not forgotten the true monstrous face behind it. How could he forget?
The man known as "Lord Crimson."
Master of the Red Tower, who pursued order through fire and fury.
The Red Tower's mages were closely aligned with the Emperor's will and never hesitated to act as enforcers of the Empire's ambitions. Their belief in "justice through strength" was the very spirit of the Empire's age.
──Dale recalled his past life, when he had been subjected to countless horrific experiments at their hands.
"So this is Young Master Dale."
And that detestable man smiled quietly at him.
"The prodigious genius of the ducal house… I've heard he possesses unmatched magical talent across the Empire."
For a moment, Marquis Eurys's gaze gleamed like a snake eyeing its prey.
"Rumor has it you wiped out a horde of orcs to protect your family's knights?"
He spread his arms theatrically, like an actor on stage.
"To achieve such feats at just nine years old!"
"Stories tend to be exaggerated, as you know."
The Duke of Saxen calmly interrupted, maintaining endless humility. He understood better than anyone the danger of Dale's talent.
"As expected of Your Grace's son."
"He is a child blessed beyond measure, even to me."
Once again, Marquis Eurys turned his gaze to Dale. Just as the elven mage Sepia had done, he coolly assessed Dale's talent and the threat it posed.
Magic was ultimately the manifestation of one's inner world. And the man before him was said to be the pinnacle of flame magic—Lord Crimson.
Thus, sensing the burning "flame" of hatred within a ten-year-old's heart would not be difficult.
"..."
But no such flame of hatred burned.
Only a cold, icy chill spread from within his chest.
"I, Dale of Saxen, greet Marquis Eurys."
Within that numbing cold, Dale smiled innocently. Pretending to be nothing more than a naive ten-year-old child.
---
Even as the night deepened, the festival showed no sign of dying down. Leaving behind the grand celebration, Dale quietly slipped out of the Duke's Great Hall.
Alone—leaving behind his father, mother, and the maids who tended to the nobles.
The presence of the Red Tower's master himself, personally leading the imperial nobles here, was no small matter.
Dale, even more than his father, understood what it meant.
After the Empire unified the continent, peace had not truly come.
The Emperor's faction, the Nobles' faction, and the separatists of fallen kingdoms still resisted, their sparks of rebellion refusing to die out.
And now, after his father's public warning to the Holy Swordsman, the Empire had clearly sent its answer.
'Do I need to draw my sword on my own?'
As he walked through the marble corridors, Dale pondered.
He wished he could call Charlotte for a spar, but she was officially his mother's maid. If discovered training, the "daughter of the Divine Sword" would draw even more dangerous attention.
He realized again how privileged—yet precarious—his life truly was.
"Gyaaaah!"
A shrill scream broke the night.
"Behave yourself, you wretched servant!"
Dale immediately grasped what was happening.
"Please, I beg you! I serve House Saxen—"
"Silence, filth! You dare bring up the Duke's name?"
The voice was dripping with drunken arrogance.
Even among nobles, the difference between a ducal maid and a lowborn servant was stark.
"Ha! It's the Duke's birthday, what's the harm?!"
Laughter followed.
"Better you serve us than waste your time standing around!"
Dale's expression turned cold as he approached the sound.
"Any more resistance and I'll cut you down!"
The distinct metallic shing of a stiletto echoed.
"Ahhh..."
Recognizing the terrified voice, Dale's steps quickened.
He rounded the corner and saw the scene clearly—
Eve, the seventeen-year-old maid who always cared for him, cornered against the wall. Her clothes half-torn, tears staining her face.
"Prince Dale...!"
Her voice was filled with desperate relief.
The nobleman, Petro, turned toward Dale with a startled look, clearly embarrassed to be caught.
"Wh-what is this—"
"Step away."
Dale's voice was calm.
Petro smirked instead, twirling the stiletto casually.
"You've never been with a woman before, have you, boy?" he sneered.
"I could teach you a pleasure you'll never forget."
He dragged the blade slowly down Eve's dress, mocking Dale with a lecherous grin.
"...Disgusting."
Dale's expression did not change, but the air around him turned frigid.
"Send her to me."
"What?"
"Send. Her. Here."
Petro hesitated, then shoved Eve toward Dale.
In that instant, icy magic burst from Dale's fingers.
Crack!
An Ice Bullet shot past Petro's cheek, slamming into the stone wall with a sharp crack.
"Heeek!"
Petro collapsed backward, trembling in fear as the stiletto clattered to the ground.
"Kneel."
Dale's voice was quiet, cold, and commanding.
"Kneel and apologize to Miss Eve."
"You insolent brat—!"
"Can't you hear me?"
Petro bit his lip, rage boiling.
"I represent His Majesty the Emperor!" he barked, as if that title could shield him.
Dale tilted his head.
"So His Majesty also condones the assault of servants?"
"You dare—!"
Before Petro could rise, footsteps approached. The Duke's knights and attendants had sensed the disturbance.
"This is your last chance," Dale said softly.
"Apologize, or remain kneeling when my father arrives."
---
Father, Mother Elena, the knights, the nobles from the capital—all soon gathered.
And there, before everyone, Petro was on his knees.
"Dale, what is the meaning of this?"
The Duke's voice was calm but heavy.
"This man attempted to assault a maid of House Saxen," Dale replied, unflinching.
"You dare humiliate an imperial noble for such a trivial matter?" the Duke asked sharply.
Petro looked relieved, sensing support.
"Y-yes! Your Grace! The young master was simply—"
"Who said you could stand?"
Petro froze as Dale's magic flared again.
"Dale!"
Even the Duke of Saxen's eyes widened at his son's audacity.
"You men from the capital act under His Majesty's will," Dale said coldly.
"And yet this man used that name to justify defiling a maid. Such disgrace cannot be tolerated."
The hall went silent.
"──Ha!"
The silence broke as Marquis Eurys chuckled, amused.
"The young master is quite… impressive."
With a flick of his wrist, crimson flames erupted at Petro's feet.
"Aaaaaaaagh!"
The noble screamed as fire engulfed him, writhing on the floor.
"This is justice."
Marquis Eurys smiled faintly.
"Those who stain His Majesty's name must be erased."
Neither the Duke nor Dale looked away as Petro's screams died.
When nothing remained but a scattering of ash, Eurys turned to Dale.
"I look forward to the young master's future."
Dale smiled innocently, as though nothing had happened.
"You won't be disappointed."