A different path from the original
"Your Highness! Prince Gilroshan!"
Kals Sillion.
They said he was such a handsome knight that anyone who saw him couldn't help but be impressed…
'Well, he is handsome.'
I had to admit what was true.
[Character] Nicknamed the Knight of Dawn. Once a high-ranking knight of the Imperial Royal Guard, but after the Empire fractured, he defected to the Northern Five Kingdoms and became commander of the Sky Knights.
'So not Sillion, but Reut.'
That was something that would only happen much later — after Kals learned the secret of his birth and returned to the Reut Marquess family. That's when his name would change.
And that cringe-worthy reputation as the "Knight of Dawn" was also something he would only earn much later, as the original story progressed.
For now, Kals Sillion was just a promising 6-star knight.
A young man barely twenty — in truth, still low-level.
'Then what does that make me, with my Level 0 and F-rank card?'
Just thinking about it pissed me off.
Whether he knew my thoughts or not, Kals looked on the verge of tears as he faced me.
"Why did you do that, Your Highness! If you had left it alone, we and the Special Knights would have surrounded them front and back and crushed them!"
Yeah. That might have worked.
And then I'd have been dragged helplessly back to the palace, only to face more assassins from the Minister of the Palace or the Aeolem Church. That time, my neck would definitely be forfeit.
Even my Taste for Bondage skill would be useless. I'd probably end up buried alive.
'That could very well happen.'
Bamilo Dimarc might not, but the Revolutionary leadership above him would never make the same mistake twice.
Kals Sillion was the very model of a knight who gave true loyalty to the wastrel Third Prince.
But of course, he had no way of knowing the truth behind the scenes.
"You scum! Release His Highness at once and withdraw, or I'll cut you all down!"
Shrrk.
His passionate blade was drawn, flashing with danger.
But the priests didn't so much as flinch.
To them, Kals was already a beaten opponent they had shaken off once before — nothing too threatening.
And more than that…
'Hey, they didn't bring me here!'
'I followed on my own!'
'He went out to cut a tumor and came back with an extra lump instead.'
'A pervert who enjoys being slapped around by old men!'
…Their looks said all that and more.
They looked very resentful.
And that, too, annoyed me.
Meanwhile, Bamilo and Irgal kept silent.
But their gazes were fixed not on Kals, but on my supposed magic tutor — Tyrbaen Sui.
"..."
The middle-aged witch with her red hair neatly tied back.
They were warier of her than of Kals.
[Character] Nicknamed the Red Shadow. A witch trained in the Prism Towers of the Balt Magic Empire. Rumors said she was over two hundred years old and bathed in virgins' blood to preserve her youth.
'Two hundred years old? Bathing in virgin blood? What a joke.'
Knowing Tyrbaen's real secret, I couldn't help but scoff whenever I read the setting guide.
Complicated circumstances aside, she was nineteen.
And they dared put such slander in the official guidebook? GodSoft's bizarre sense of humor was beyond me.
At any rate, Tyrbaen at this point in time was basically "demoted" to serving as tutor to the wastrel prince — frustrated and disillusioned.
Just look at her expression.
Annoyance, anger, and the exasperation of a salaried worker, all twisted together on her face.
'Well, of course. Babysitting a prince with zero magical talent, only to get dragged into this mess. No wonder she's furious.'
She'd just wanted to pass the time quietly, but instead she'd been dragged into a kidnapping incident, trudging mountain paths for three sleepless nights.
If she wasn't pissed, she'd be a saint, not a witch.
In fact, the only reason she hadn't just blasted the priests outright, and had instead trailed them, was worth praising her temper for.
'Though, it was probably thanks to Kals calming her down.'
Luckily — or unluckily — she was weak to handsome men.
So those last three days, chasing me with Kals at her side, must have felt like heaven at her elbow, hell at her heels.
"…Still, heaven at your elbow is something. You should be grateful."
"What?"
The cranky witch tilted her head.
Right — the Third Prince's noble status didn't mean much between master and apprentice.
"I mean, at least I'm alive, right…?"
Her expression said she was ready to prove our relationship right then and there.
"You miserable brat!"
Her voice exploded in a storm of curses.
"I risked my damn life to save you, and this is what you do? You can't cooperate for once, you just screw it all up? Is your head just a hat rack? Or an ornament to keep your shoulders from feeling bare?"
"..."
"If you've stuffed magic down the toilet and eaten mana theory with your porridge, then at least keep some sense of basic common sense! Why the hell would you ruin our chance like this, you worthless trash?!"
I was stunned.
I knew that priests didn't give princes any special courtesy… but this?
'She's just a thug!'
Was she really a witch?
Or was it because she was a witch that she cursed so well?
A saint wouldn't be able to swear like that, after all.
I was still reeling from her tirade when—
"Third Prince!"
Bamilo Dimarc's low cry struck my ear.
"Let me make something clear. Our priest order can't take on a 9-star knight and his whole unit."
Clack.
I felt the priests' hands tighten on their hilts.
So unified it felt like a single motion.
"…But a 6-star knight and a 7-star witch — that's another matter."
He was saying they could cut down Kals and Tyrbaen and keep going, even if they had to spill some blood.
"So if you have some plan in that head of yours, speak quickly. Neither side here seems all that patient."
I slowly nodded.
Blood must not be spilled here.
The more meaningless blood was shed, the worse the situation would grow, and someone would have to take responsibility.
Survival under such a burden was no easy feat.
'Even with no grudges, life is dangerous enough.'
If possible, I had to bring as many as I could to my side.
Even that foul-mouthed nineteen-year-old hag.
So I stepped forward, between the two opposing sides.
And I spoke.
"Kals, I'm going to Aurax."
Kals' blue eyes widened in shock.
"Eh? What do you mean, Your Highness? Aurax is enemy territory! Don't you know it's the stronghold of the revolutionaries who defy the Empire—"
"I know. I know everything. And I go by my own will. You can't understand, but this is my chosen path, my destiny. So don't stop me. That is my command, as your lord."
"Ah… I…"
His eyes pleaded to say more, but I cut him off with a sharp turn of my head.
"And Master, please forgive your unworthy disciple."
Tyrbaen's face showed no change.
But still, I said what I had to say.
"It's not true that I tossed magic down the toilet. The teachings you gave me will someday shine with all the colors of the spectrum. I will reclaim mana's love."
I didn't know what lessons she'd really given.
But I was sure, given her personality, she hadn't treated Gilroshan as nothing but dead weight.
So I spoke firmly.
"I can't tell you when. But it will happen. I know I can't give you certainty — but believe in your student. Just this once."
When I fell silent, a heavy silence settled over us all.
"..."
"..."
The two of them stared at me in silence.
'Strictly speaking, they were looking at Gilroshan's face.'
What I chose was a frontal breakthrough.
Not deception, not trickery — but the very voice of the wastrel Third Prince they had lived beside.
To Kals, he had been a lacking, worrying master to whom he still gave his loyalty.
To Tyrbaen, he had been a useless burden of a student, but still one like an aching finger.
And so I borrowed that Third Prince's voice, and delivered the words they most wanted to hear.
To Kals, the will toward a new life…
To Tyrbaen, the determination to learn…
I took those as weapons and drove them deep.
Of course, I wasn't Gilroshan.
But I was Gilroshan.
That's why I could pick the right weapons.
What would the result be?
'He said he didn't throw magic into the toilet?'
Tyrbaen Sui kept a calm face, but inside she was in turmoil.
The Third Prince before her was unlike any she had ever seen.
In truth, he almost seemed like an entirely different person.
Three days of trekking mountains and forests night and day had left his clothes in tatters.
His once fair face, already barely tolerable, was smeared with sweat, dirt, and bloodstains until he was a mess…
'Did he ever have eyes like that? That brat?'
Eyes that seemed to blaze with a brilliance that could shine even in the blackest forest.
Eyes she had never once seen in all their time together at the prince's palace.
'Is it just because he's lost some weight?'
No — the person himself had changed too much for that.
His bearing, his every word — all were utterly different.
And then… 'Master'?
'He actually called me Master!'
The original Gilroshan had never been able to call Tyrbaen "Master" or "Teacher."
Not because she forbade it.
On the contrary.
'He was the one who trembled in fear and avoided me.'
Everyone in the Imperial family knew the Third Prince had no talent for magic.
And the one who knew it best was the Third Prince himself.
So Gilroshan never dared raise his head to Tyrbaen. He would mumble, dodge lessons, or when forced to sit, bury his head on the desk.
'But now suddenly he's addressing me properly?'
It was too strange.
And even more shocking…
'He said my teachings would one day grasp the light of the spectrum?'
He had actually said that. Unbelievable.
Those words — "the light of the spectrum" — weren't just flowery embellishment.
They were special.
"Great magic shall take on, and shine with, the full light of the spectrum."
That was the highest praise and blessing taught since childhood at the Prism Towers where Tyrbaen had studied.
Only someone who knew its magic, culture, and traditions intimately could even understand the meaning.
And now it had flowed from Gilroshan's lips.
So naturally.
To Tyrbaen, this was the most gratifying thing of all.
'So he wasn't completely indifferent to magic!'
In truth, it wasn't that he didn't care.
Because he lacked talent, he had pretended in front of others to hate it — but secretly, he had yearned for magic, longed for the Prism Towers.
'And he hid those burning eyes so well.'
Why?
A nail will pierce its sack sooner or later, they said.
'But in the palace, he played the fool perfectly.'
So perfectly he fooled everyone.
For what reason?
Fear of Imperial politics? Of palace intrigue?
Fear of the Crown Prince and the Second Prince's oppression?
"..."
She couldn't know.
It was too late to wonder now.
But what mattered was from here on.
'He said he has to cross into Aurax to survive?'
Tyrbaen had already made up her mind.
No matter what happened, she would support her disciple's will.
She had been stuck with him for over five years, but only now did she feel true interest in him.
Magic?
That could be learned slowly.
Even without talent, there were endless possibilities.
'The only difference is whether you accept that and keep striving, or collapse in despair.'
Gilroshan now seemed to know the path he had to walk.
So a master had no other choice.
She had to let him do it.
The problem lay elsewhere.
'…Sir Kals Sillion. He's a complete absolutist.'
Three days together had proven it beyond doubt.
The eldest son of Count Sillion, the second-highest knight of the Imperial Royal Guard, this Kals Sillion was a man who knew nothing of compromise.
Like the sharp edge of his own proud nose, he clung immovably to his knightly code.
He had come this far solely for Gilroshan's safety, and above all, to return his lord to the palace.
But if that very lord suddenly insisted on following assassins into enemy territory?
'Even if ordered in the prince's name, Sir Sillion would never accept it.'
On the contrary, he'd probably square his shoulders and shout: "Forgive my disloyalty! But I must strike my lord unconscious and drag him back!"
"Hm."
Already, a headache.
What could possibly sway such a beautiful absolutist?
Tyrbaen mulled over the problem, glancing at Kals.
But it was pointless.
"Uhhuhuhuuuk!"
"…Huh?"
"Our prince said such words! Sniff, sob!"
…Who is this man?
"Of course! I always believed Your Highness would one day find your great cause! I, Kals Sillion, as your sword, will follow your will! Huuuuk!"
Crying?
The handsome knight was weeping, snot and tears running freely.
"Your path! Your destiny! Your will!"
Oh, for heaven's sake.
"If anyone would block it, they must first break my sword! Snrk! Huurk, huuuuk!"
Wait, what?
The 6-star knight was bawling so hard with emotion he was about to pass out.