Chapter 242 - Clouds of War Gather (2)

The king burst into a hearty laugh upon receiving Marquis Bielefeld's report.

"I was just wondering why the boy had grown so quiet. I would have expected him to be running wild like an unruly calf."

The marquis merely looked troubled.

"What concerns me most is how the Silver Lions will receive His Highness's intentions."

"Indeed, the proud Silver Lions will hardly welcome his plans. Some might even find excuses to refuse the summons."

"Surely they would not go quite that far, but they certainly will not be easy to move."

The king gave a slight nod, then spoke firmly.

"Then we must leave them no choice."

"In that case..."

"I shall send messengers myself. They will assemble by royal command."

"That would make matters far easier. His Highness will surely be grateful to Your Majesty."

"Grateful? For what?"

The king shook his head.

"It has scarcely been any time since the boy rose from his sickbed after those grievous injuries. Magic may have healed the wounds on the surface, but after such deep sword cuts, he cannot possibly be sound within already."

Self-reproach suddenly crossed his face.

"Yet he spends his days pushing himself so fiercely. He prepares for the future, begrudging even the time it would take to care for himself. Against such resolve, what does it matter if I lend a few words of support?"

The king said he could still vividly see the crown prince fighting the Penta Knight. He could not forget the sight of him advancing, soaked in blood, without retreating a single step.

"And surely this was not the only time. He must have survived every one of those dreadful battles by risking his life like that."

The marquis, too, grew heavyhearted at those words.

"Effective immediately, I rescind the ban on the crown prince's access to classified information. Grand Marshal, spare no effort in supporting everything he undertakes."

"Of course, Your Majesty."

At the marquis's solemn reply, the king added in an even firmer tone,

"However, my orders regarding leaving the palace and participating in the war remain in force. Give him all the support he requires, but ensure that he becomes embroiled in nothing dangerous, in any form."

"I shall keep that firmly in mind!"

With their discussion largely concluded, the king suddenly looked behind him.

"Count."

The Commander of the Royal Knights, who had been standing silently in attendance, inclined his head at the king's call.

"Go to him."

The unexpected words made the old knight stiffen.

"And do not tell me your duties prevent you from leaving my side. I refuse to believe the Royal Knights are so inept that your brief absence would endanger my safety."

With the king allowing no room for compromise, the reluctant old knight could only request a little time.

It seemed he needed time to prepare himself before visiting the poor student he had once taught and then cast aside.

* * *

The first to answer the summons was the lord of Iron Lion Castle, two days from the royal palace.

"What could it be this time?"

York Walloden, leader of the Iron Lions, found the second summons this year deeply puzzling, but set out for the palace with his knights nonetheless.

"Go and see the crown prince."

After welcoming the Iron Lions' leader with a few perfunctory words, the king immediately directed him to the First Prince's Palace.

"What could His Highness want with us...?"

York Walloden led the Iron Lions onward to the First Prince's Palace.

He stiffened at the sight beyond the wide-open gates.

The First Prince stood in the middle of the devastated palace grounds.

"I've been waiting ever since I heard you'd arrived. Welcome, Count."

The crown prince greeted them with a broad grin.

Something about that welcome was unnerving. York Walloden found himself looking around.

The training ground and garden lay in ruins. The crown prince's knights wore battered armor, dented all over and broken in places.

For some inexplicable reason, there was pity in their eyes.

"Let me ask you something. What matters to you? Your honor and pride as knights?"

York Walloden turned back to find that the smile had vanished from the crown prince's face.

"Or the kingdom's peace and a brighter tomorrow?"

York Walloden answered without hesitation.

"For the glory of the lion. As the claws of the lion. Those are among the vows the Iron Lions swear when first knighted."

An inscrutable smile appeared on the crown prince's face.

"That sounds like a promise to live for the kingdom, even if your honor and pride as knights are trampled into the mud. Have I understood you correctly?"

"Your phrasing is rather extreme and forceful, but it is not far removed from the purpose for which the Iron Lion Knights were founded."

The name Iron Lions itself signified the swords of the Leonberk Kingdom. York Walloden nodded in agreement.

"Good."

That was his mistake.

"Eli."

No sooner had the crown prince spoken than the palace gates slammed shut.

BOOM!

"From this moment, I shall treat you not as knights, but as swords."

York Walloden turned from the young lord of the Eli family standing before the gates back to the crown prince.

"And you shall regard me as your hammer and anvil."

"What do you mean by that...?"

As York Walloden frowned at him, the crown prince's grin widened.

"I mean that, starting now, I am going to hammer you without rest."

The crown prince drew his sword.

"Everything I do to you from now on will stem from my desire to forge you into sharper swords."

Twilight, the treasured blade whose name was now known throughout the kingdom, began to hum softly.

"So please, do not resent me."

At that moment, the fate of York Walloden and the Iron Lions was sealed.

* * *

"Whew."

Arwen Kirgayen steadied her ragged breathing and looked around.

The Iron Lions lay sprawled across the ground. Beside them, the Royal Knights and the Ballorhard knights rolled about in much the same state, clad in scraps of metal that could scarcely be called armor anymore.

Only a handful of knights, including the Silver Lions, still stood on their own two feet with swords in hand.

"Since this is the first day, we shall stop here. Tomorrow will be even more exhausting, so rest well today."

With that, the crown prince put away the sword hanging at his side and turned to leave.

"Good heavens. What on earth was that?"

The leader of the Iron Lion Knights stared after him, repeatedly letting out incredulous chuckles.

Arwen sighed quietly at the sight.

She had seen the discontent and bewilderment on the faces of the Iron Lions strewn across the ground.

If she left things as they were, the crown prince's lofty intentions might earn him nothing but resentment. She stepped before the old knight who had once been her superior and explained the circumstances the crown prince had neglected to mention.

"His Highness fears that unless the kingdom's knights improve their skills, our losses will be great when war begins again."

York Walloden sighed and answered.

His voice was far calmer than she had feared.

"Several years ago, when His Highness first visited Iron Lion Castle, I told him myself that a few defeats in sparring would not tarnish the Iron Lions' name. Perhaps he considers today merely a continuation of that day."

Fortunately, York Walloden did not seem particularly offended.

"I am simply concerned. If he keeps disregarding procedure and convention with such unorthodox methods, he may invite needless resentment."

Naturally, being attacked without warning had left him bewildered and displeased. Yet the Penta Knight's attack on the palace was still fresh, and he seemed to share the crown prince's concerns more than anything else.

Or perhaps he was merely holding his tongue before her, someone who could be called a confidante of the crown prince.

Unlike the other Silver Lions, the Iron Lions' leader was shrewd and calculating, closer to a politician than a knight.

She was half right and half wrong.

"Tsk. I can tell what you're thinking from your face."

York Walloden was indeed shrewd and seasoned enough to read thoughts she had never voiced.

"I, too, am a knight. How could I not respect His Highness for defeating a man who had reached the Penta realm, a height I had given up on? And how could I fail to welcome the chance to learn from such a knight?"

But contrary to her assessment, he was not wholly political by nature.

The yearning and respect in York Walloden's eyes were genuine.

"Of course, I am none too pleased to be rolling through the dirt at my age."

Having made that lighthearted remark, he glanced ahead.

"Still, His Highness held back somewhat to preserve my dignity. For that, I can only be grateful."

He glanced at Bernardo Eli, who was a bloody wreck and all but unconscious.

"Mm."

Arwen did not bother telling him that the crown prince was simply especially rough with Young Lord Eli, not that he had shown York Walloden any particular leniency.

Unaware of her thoughts, York Walloden barked at his men.

"Get up this instant!"

The Iron Lions staggered to their feet.

As Arwen watched them rise, she suddenly realized something.

The expressions of several Iron Lions who had been displeased by the crown prince's methods—so extreme they went beyond mere severity—had changed.

Their earlier resentment was nowhere to be seen.

Like their commander's, their eyes now burned with eagerness for this rare opportunity to cross swords with the kingdom's mightiest knight, the man who had brought down even a Penta Knight.

Could it be?

Arwen suddenly turned her head.

There was York Walloden, chivvying his men along.

He was utterly impossible to read.

She had been surprised to find a knightly side to the man she had thought wholly political. Now she was surprised again by the possibility that even that display had been carefully calculated.

"There is no need to overthink it. I am merely trying to honor a promise to an old friend, one I failed to keep while he lived."

Sensing Arwen's gaze, York Walloden spoke as though in passing.

She could not tell where his sincerity ended and his calculations began.

Yet amid that confusion, one thing was certain: York Walloden would be a staunch source of support for the crown prince.

He did not disappoint her.

The Silver Lions who answered the summons and gathered at the First Prince's Palace could not conceal their discomfort at the crown prince's proposal.

"Well, now. This is quite..."

Though stationed closest, the Commander of the Royal Knights had been the last to join them because of his duties. Deeply disconcerted to find himself receiving instruction from the crown prince whose swordsmanship teacher he had once been, he could only chuckle awkwardly.

"I am well aware of Your Highness's renowned swordsmanship, but I am too old and set in my ways to change my training methods now."

Count Joachim Schultz, the Silver Lion who had first met the crown prince at the recent banquet, politely declined.

"Hmm."

Count Richter Richtein, who had fought alongside him in the war against the Warlord, did not refuse outright, but looked distinctly unenthusiastic.

Every one of them acknowledged the mastery of the crown prince who had defeated a Penta Knight and held him in deep respect, yet balked at his proposal.

"What's the problem? It's a chance to get stronger."

Young Lord Eli seemed unable to understand them, but Arwen understood their discomfiture perfectly.

Their awe of the crown prince was a separate matter.

They had lived too long and accomplished too much to readily accept rolling through the dirt under the instruction of someone less than half their age, whose years wielding a sword amounted to an even smaller fraction of their own.

That was when York Walloden stepped in.

"Come now. Let me have a word with you."

He spoke with each of the other Silver Lions privately. After every conversation, a previously reluctant Silver Lion changed his attitude and agreed to join the training.

Curious how he had persuaded them, Arwen gazed at York Walloden.

"It was merely a petty man's glib tongue, unfit for an upright and righteous knight like you. Wonder no more."

Something about his sly expression made her reluctant to ask for details.

So, despite the Silver Lions' sudden change of heart, Arwen pretended not to notice.

Then the training began.

The Silver Lions, thoroughly battered by the crown prince's sword, poured their grievances onto York Walloden.

"Surely rolling in dirt is preferable to rolling in a pool of blood?"

But he took it all in stride.

Though furious, the Silver Lions could not take back their word. Day after day, they rolled across the ground with the other knights, covered in dirt.

Time passed.

The Silver Lions who had initially resisted grew accustomed to the harsh training methods, and even to being defeated in a sorry state.

"His Highness the Crown Prince is undoubtedly a genius."

"You could scour the entire world and never find another who achieved so much in so little time."

"A talent truly without parallel in all of history. Simply astonishing."

Sprawled on the ground without a thought for dignity, the Silver Lions marveled again and again at the crown prince's extraordinary mastery.

"Aren't you all getting ahead of yourselves? He hasn't even used his Martial Spirit Hymns yet, and those are his true strength."

Young Lord Eli, sprawled beside them in the most wretched state of all, spoke smugly.

"His Highness has grown astonishingly since defeating the Penta Knight. Even without his Martial Spirit Hymns, he can scarcely find an equal now."

Adelia Bayern, relatively unscathed, praised the crown prince with a shy expression but a voice full of pride.

All the Silver Lions offered their admiration for the crown prince, except Percival Altringen, whom he had summoned the moment sparring ended.

But throughout their chatter, Arwen said not a word.

She merely looked in the direction the crown prince had gone, her face troubled.

It had been only a little over a month since all the Silver Lions assembled for training, but these brutal sessions had actually begun much earlier, three months ago.

And throughout that time, the crown prince had not missed a single day.

The others had set down their swords, however briefly, to tend to their bodies. Only the crown prince had remained at his post.

It was not as though he escaped injury.

He, too, had suffered countless wounds, great and small, during the harsh training. Since the old knights had recently joined them, those injuries had become more severe.

There were limits even to what the palace mages tending him could do.

Magic might heal surface wounds, but it could not mend torn muscles and damaged bones in a single day.

He could not possibly be insensible to the pain of flesh being cut and torn. Swinging his sword every day until his mana ran dry could not possibly be painless.

It was astonishing that he could dominate so many knights, including numerous Silver Lions, in such poor condition. But her concern far outweighed her amazement.

The crown prince was human, too. He was not a man forged of iron.

Of course cuts hurt. Of course injuries required rest.

In fact, Arwen had several times seen the prince—who ordinarily never so much as twitched an eyebrow even when cut, stabbed, and covered in blood—wince in pain, however briefly.

The others seemed not to have noticed at all.

His wisdom beyond his years and his mastery, so lofty that even the Silver Lions dared not measure it, had made them blind.

Whatever others might do, his own knights should not be that way.

Unfortunately, few were in a position to assess the crown prince's condition properly.

Karl Ulrich was invariably knocked out of the fight too early to study his expression, and Bernardo Eli was not perceptive enough to notice such things in the first place.

As for the insensitive knights of Winter Castle, who would lose an arm and merely mutter, "Well, there goes archery," there was nothing more to say.

Only Adelia Bayern seemed to have noticed the crown prince's condition, but unfortunately, she was not one to step forward and object to anything her master did.

In the end, only Arwen remained.

Yet she could not dissuade him. Ordinarily, she would have intervened several times over, but this time she could not bring herself to do it.

Whenever she saw the anxious look on his face, as though something were pursuing him, not a single word pressing at her throat would emerge.

"Not enough. Still nowhere near enough."

Those words, muttered several times a day, kept her from stepping in.

He was deeply uneasy.

Alone and in silence, he was preparing for something that would soon come.

Whatever it was, it could not be a trivial matter.

Even faced with war against the Empire that ruled half the continent, the crown prince had bared his teeth rather than shown anxiety or impatience. Now he acted as though he could not bear to stop driving his body to its limits.

She tried several times to ask him directly, but for some reason could not get the words out.

Perhaps he had noticed her worry. One day, the crown prince spoke to her in a subdued voice.

"Words have power. There are things whose existence becomes more definite simply by speaking of them. For now, I have no desire to lend their existence strength with my own tongue."

Those incomprehensible words only deepened her worries.

Yet in life, an answer that refuses to show itself no matter how long one ponders will sometimes emerge of its own accord.

And there is no rule that an answer found that way must be welcome.

This was just such a case.

One day, two months after the crown prince had assembled the Silver Lions, a messenger arrived at the royal palace.

On his back flew a flag signaling urgent news.