Chapter 13. Prove Your Qualifications (3)
"Hm."
The emperor rested his hand against his chin.
The throne room stood empty, everyone else having withdrawn. Seated there as if reigning over all, the emperor let out a quiet laugh.
"To ask for a chance to prove who is more qualified—yourself or the Second Prince. Heh. Heh."
The emperor recalled his eldest son, Rakiel, who had just taken his leave.
He replayed the words his firstborn had spoken to him. The more he recalled them, the more astonished he became.
It could not be helped.
"Did that child always have such a side to him?"
The sight of him boldly standing up to the emperor himself. Even before the authority and pressure of a ruler, he had not bent. Instead, he had stood straight, meeting the emperor's gaze head-on.
Yet what was even more surprising was that Rakiel had not bared his fangs in the process.
"Usually, one struggles desperately to resist authority and pressure. In the process, they become defiant and cross the line. That would be the expected reaction."
But Rakiel had not done that.
He had not been rebellious.
Rather, he had been calm.
He had shown not the slightest hint of wavering.
Maintaining proper boundaries, he endured the pressure with composure and reason from start to finish. In other words, he had not felt burdened by the emperor's presence at all.
"And to top it off, a counterproposal."
From the beginning, the emperor had assumed the boy would kneel easily. That he would crumble before the offer presented to him. That assumption had prompted the proposal in the first place.
Yet he had not collapsed. Instead, he had gone so far as to present an entirely unexpected counterproposal.
"A chance to prove his qualifications, hm."
Rakiel's voice was still vivid in his ears. His eyes, looking back at the emperor with no trace of agitation. As if he were absolutely certain that his counterproposal would be accepted.
"…If you would grant me permission, then in a fortnight, I will face the Second Prince in a duel of swordsmanship."
For once, it was the emperor who lost his composure upon hearing those words—out of sheer incredulity.
"Swordsmanship?"
The moment he asked, Rakiel answered.
"Yes, Your Majesty. I am currently viewed with suspicion regarding my qualifications due to my frail body and weak constitution. They say I cannot protect the position of Crown Prince, that I cannot bear its weight. Thus, I wish to prove that such views are mistaken—that I am indeed qualified."
"So you wish to demonstrate your health and soundness?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. And so I wish to cross swords with the Second Prince."
"If you cross swords with the Second Prince, do you truly believe you can win?"
"They say you cannot know which is longer or shorter until you measure them."
"Preposterous. You know full well that the Second Prince possesses the Astra Heart Method at the single-circle level, and that he has received sword training from a renowned knight since childhood."
"Yes, I am well aware."
"Then you must also recognize that you yourself have been sickly since childhood, to the point where you have hardly even run properly, let alone trained in swordsmanship."
"Of course."
"And yet you would still duel the Second Prince to prove your qualifications?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"You would be hard-pressed even to last five minutes, let alone win."
"As you say, the outcome is only known once the lid is opened."
"You are that confident?"
"Yes."
"To me, it looks like reckless bravado."
"I have my own reasoning, so I humbly ask for your leniency."
"Is that so?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
At the moment his eldest son answered thus, the emperor had felt it intuitively. This boy is doing this on purpose. He was making a proposal while fully prepared to lose from the outset.
And so the emperor had nodded readily.
"Very well. I shall accept your proposal. I will determine the location of the duel and notify you. As you wish, in a fortnight you will cross swords with the Second Prince and prove your soundness yourself. However, the condition of victory shall not be winning, but enduring without falling for five minutes."
"…Why is that?"
"Consider it a small mercy from me toward you."
It truly was mercy.
In truth, it was inevitable that the eldest could not defeat the Second Prince. No—forget victory, lasting even five minutes would be nothing short of a miracle.
"When the duel actually begins, will he last one minute…? No, even thirty seconds would be difficult."
Lost in thought, the emperor murmured.
Soon, he slowly shook his head.
This duel would end in the Second Prince's victory no matter what. That was an established fact. And Rakiel, too, likely knew this from the very beginning.
That was what the emperor believed.
"Hah. I misjudged you. Your wit has not dulled after all."
Somehow, he felt as though he understood Rakiel's true intentions.
The eldest son had chosen a rightful "succession" through a fair duel, rather than the soft "concession" offered by the emperor. He intended to lose in an untainted contest, free of interference, and hand over the position of Crown Prince to the Second Prince.
By doing so, he would grant the Second Prince even greater symbolism and legitimacy…
"So you chose sacrifice, did you?"
Emperor Asterion clenched the armrest of the throne tightly, his heart swelling. A complicated smile hung on his lips.
He was proud.
That eldest son who had always disappointed him. The firstborn he had, before he knew it, given up on. That such a child had made this admirable choice on his own filled him with boundless pride and joy.
And yet, at the same time, a quiet sadness welled up within him.
Such a sharp-minded firstborn should be the one to inherit the throne.
The fact that, realistically, this could not happen was what made it so sorrowful. And more than that, the very fact that the boy had resolved to sacrifice himself was heartbreaking. From the perspective of a father rather than an emperor, it was even more so.
But the emperor never imagined it, not even in his dreams.
That he was completely misunderstanding Rakiel's true intentions.
Because in truth, Rakiel was thinking—
♣
"Sacrifice my ass. Why would I lose on purpose? I'm going to win. No matter what."
Inside the carriage rattling its way back to the detached palace.
Rakiel let out a dry laugh.
He recalled the emperor he had just faced. He replayed the words the emperor had spoken to him. The more he thought about them, the more amused he became.
It couldn't be helped.
"That old man clearly misunderstood my proposal."
He had suggested a sword duel with the Second Prince. At first, the emperor had reacted as if it were absurd, but gradually his expression had softened into a satisfied smile. The look of pride he had directed at Rakiel was just a bonus.
Could it be that he had taken the proposal as some grand act of self-sacrifice?
"Yeah, probably."
All the better.
Being misunderstood like that was easier.
Thanks to that misunderstanding, the emperor had accepted the proposal without hesitation.
But it seemed the emperor was not the only one who had misunderstood. That very evening, after returning from the imperial audience, an unexpected visitor arrived at the detached palace.
It was the Second Prince.
"It has been a long time, Brother. Or rather, Your Highness the Crown Prince."
"..."
"In truth, I heard some unbelievable news today… and, being concerned, I came straight away."
"..."
"Your Highness?"
"Tskt."
Rakiel clicked his tongue.
There was no special reason.
The man who had suddenly shown up at the detached palace—there was no doubt he was the Second Prince. He looked exactly like the illustration from the novel Demon Sword Emperor. And yet, somehow, this guy also seemed to have completely misunderstood Rakiel's proposal in his own way.
"Concerned about what, exactly?"
Rakiel's reply came out naturally curt. The Second Prince sat down across from him, wearing an earnest expression.
"I was worried that you might be pushing yourself too far."
"Pushing myself? Me?"
"Yes."
"Pushing myself how, exactly?"
"That you need not go so far as this. A sword duel, of all things. I… the moment I heard the news, fear struck me first."
"And what are you afraid of?"
"You are already suffering due to your chronic illness, are you not?"
"So you're worried I might collapse while preparing for the duel?"
"Your Highness—no, Brother."
"What."
"I apologize for speaking so bluntly, but… you already know the outcome, do you not?"
"The outcome?"
"Yes."
"That you'll win?"
"If the duel truly begins, it can only end that way."
"Well, that's probably true."
Rakiel nodded.
This was a duel over the position of Crown Prince. There would be no room for half-baked consideration or mercy.
As he was thinking that, the Second Prince continued.
"As you know, Brother, there will be no upset in the result. For the sake of such a result, for you to sacrifice your health… I cannot bear it. You do not need to go that far. You do not need to volunteer for such a sacrifice for my sake."
"..."
"I know, in fact. I just met with His Majesty. He holds thoughts similar to mine. That you are deliberately engaging in a reckless duel to grant me greater legitimacy through it."
"..."
"I do not want such a sacrifice. It brings me no joy at all."
"..."
"Brother?"
"Yeah. What."
"Do you perhaps distrust me?"
"Distrust you? What are you talking about now?"
"After you hand over the position of Crown Prince, I mean. If you are trying to burden me with political debt in advance, fearing that I might one day harm you or purge you… you need not worry about that."
"..."
"I swear I will never harbor ill intent toward you. I will not even think of restraining you. I will simply devote myself fully to my duties with a heightened sense of responsibility toward the throne you pass down to me. So, Brother, if you doubt me in any way—"
"I've never doubted you."
Rakiel cut him off.
Listening any further, it felt as though the Second Prince was diving headfirst into an endless sea of misunderstandings.
"Hah. Everyone's got it completely wrong."
The emperor, and the Second Prince too.
They were interpreting his proposal for a sword duel however they pleased.
"I have zero intention of losing on purpose."
Because Rakiel's usual image was that of a sickly prince—no, because in reality he was weak enough to be at death's door—no one would expect anything from a sword duel with the Second Prince.
And that was only natural.
Rakiel let out a small, crooked smile.
"I understand how you feel."
He truly did.
The Second Prince in the novel, Theodor Palermo Magentano, was genuinely a good man. Diligent in his own way, sharp, and responsible. When Crown Prince Rakiel died, he was one of the very few characters who truly mourned him.
"If only he had properly handled the Great War…"
A character who met a tragic end because he failed at the most crucial role.
That was the Second Prince, Theodor, standing before him now.
Looking at him, Rakiel said,
"That's enough. No matter what you think, this is already irreversible. I made my proposal to His Majesty, and His Majesty accepted it. And now you want to retract it? Not a chance."
"Brother…"
"Go back. I want to rest."
"Will you truly choose such a futile sacrifice?"
"Enough. We'll talk again on the day of the duel."
He waved his hand dismissively.
The guards politely escorted the Second Prince out. Even as he left the bedchamber, the Second Prince cast a look of pity toward Rakiel. That look drew a bitter smile from him. That bitter smile deepened when he noticed Sir Gardin wriggling about in the corner of the room.
"Sir Gardin?"
"Yes, Your Highness?"
"What are you doing?"
"Ah, as you can see, I'm packing."
Sure enough, Sir Gardin was suddenly tidying up the belongings in Rakiel's small chamber. Rakiel furrowed one eyebrow.
"Packing?"
"Yes."
"Packing what?"
"Moving boxes."
"…Moving?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Explain."
"Well, you see… Your Highness will be dueling the Second Prince in swordsmanship in a fortnight, correct?"
"That's right."
"And after the duel, the position of Crown Prince will pass to His Highness the Second Prince. At that point, Your Highness will no longer be the Crown Prince, so…"
"So I'll pack up and leave this detached palace—where the Crown Prince resides—and move to another palace?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Ah. So that's why you're packing in advance?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
Sir Gardin wore a proud expression.
As if to say, See? I did well, didn't I?
"Well, look at you, Sir Gardin. So thorough and prepared. Very diligent, huh?"
"Thank you, Your Highness."
"Mm, sure. But there's just one problem."
"Yes?"
"If I win the duel, I'll have to fire you, Sir Gardin."
"…Pardon?"
"Fire you."
"…P-Pardon?"
"You choose. Should I cut your job, or cut off your head?"
"But, Your Highness?"
"Yeah?"
"You may cut whatever you like, but still—"
"But still?"
"With Your Highness's condition, a sword duel seems far too reckless…"
"...Tsk."
Misunderstandings were in full bloom today.
Even Sir Gardin was saying the same thing.
Rakiel clicked his tongue at the crestfallen knight.
"Reckless, my foot. I'm going to win."
"Pardon?"
"There's a way."
Rakiel smiled brightly.
To face the Second Prince and endure five minutes.
To shatter everyone's expectations in that duel.
He spoke of the secret he had had in mind from the very beginning.