Chapter 109

The Wastrel of Madness (1)

Like H-Herald, who had visited the county, members of the Royal Knights did not hold particularly high personal standing. But Royal Knights escorting royalty were different. The moment they were assigned to protect a royal, they borrowed that royal's authority. Attacking such a knight was therefore an extremely serious offense, tantamount to treason.

Even so, my reasons for acting without hesitation lay elsewhere. First, Walter's provocations really could give even the imperial army a run for its money. Second was my promise to Iliana. I intended to honor my pledge to withstand all the political pressure Marquis Segretus brought to bear.

And third, finally—

'They can't charge me anyway.'

I knew the royal court could never hold me guilty.

After all, Queen Marceline's target wasn't me. It was Seraphia. Specifically, Seraphia's debut in court society.

But not just anyone could debut in court society. Those of low birth couldn't even attend. Even someone of high standing couldn't set foot inside if they had a questionable history. Court society had turned away even a duke's daughter merely for being shabbily dressed.

What would happen if they charged me now? I would be branded guilty of "treason." With me, its eldest legitimate son, a traitor, House Whitewolf would become a traitor's house. Seraphia, as a member of that house, would become a daughter of a traitorous family.

A daughter of a traitorous family debuting in court society?

'Impossible.'

In other words, all the schemes Queen Marceline had so painstakingly devised and prepared would come to nothing. With the king bedridden and Queen Marceline serving as regent, there was no chance she would hold me responsible.

But what if, contrary to my expectations, she did hold me responsible? That wouldn't matter either. I had no intention of laying a hand on Walter himself, after all.

I had justification: Walter had insulted me. Not even royalty could freely insult nobles, especially high-ranking nobles of count or above. In other words, if I went through a formal trial, I could avoid a treason conviction. It wouldn't interfere with my succession to the title of count, either.

I would have to put up with all the headaches of a formal trial, of course—

'That's hardly a problem.'

In return, Queen Marceline would have to abandon all her schemes.

And that wasn't all. The Sovereign of Darkness's plans—and beyond those, even the Emperor's designs—would be completely overturned.

So.

◆Activating transcendent skill, Berserk[?].

◆[Sanity] - 106

◆Berserk[?] is applied at rank [B-].

◆Skill, Promote Metabolism[C+], is upgraded to rank [B-].

◆Combination skill, 'Metabolic Overdrive[U]', transcends its limits!!

Why imperial soldiers never walked away from an encounter with me with their teeth intact.

◆Activating super-combination skill, Accelerated Heartbeat[E]!

'You picked the wrong person to mess with.'

I intended to show them exactly why the imperial army had called me the [Predator of Madness].

* * *

Attacking a Royal Knight escorting royalty inside the palace could reasonably be considered an assault on royalty itself. Yet Walter felt no anger. Instead, he felt bewildered.

This... wasn't how the plan was supposed to go.

Adrian, the wastrel of a count's house. No noble in the Kingdom of Battenberg could fail to recognize that name. The original plan had been to provoke Adrian until the wastrel lost his temper and laid hands on Walter.

Laying hands on royalty was tantamount to treason—a grave crime regardless of the reason. By exposing his wastrel behavior for all to see, they would turn him into the laughingstock of the entire kingdom. The plan was to destroy his authority, impress his incompetence upon everyone, and seriously impede his succession to the title of count.

If Walter could accomplish just that, Marquis Segretus had promised him a generous reward. He would strengthen Walter's position in the palace and grant him several lucrative concessions in the future.

Walter was the third prince and last in line to the throne. But with the kingdom's chancellor, Marquis Segretus, backing him, he could gain an advantage in the contest.

The plan had been perfect. Simple, too. Adrian was a wastrel, so handling him would be easy.

And indeed, Adrian being a wastrel had gone according to plan. But what followed...

THWAAACK!!!

...was unfolding in a completely unexpected direction.

Struck without warning and driven into the palace wall, Ellen was still too dazed to recover. There was no telling what Adrian had hit him with, or how. All anyone could see was Ellen's armor, torn like paper.

"Your negligence just got your master killed once."

Adrian strode forward. As he approached Ellen, embedded in the wall, he didn't spare Walter so much as a glance. Yet Walter couldn't say a word.

"... Hhk!"

The pressure felt as though a hand were squeezing his heart. His breath caught, and his body refused to obey. He wanted to speak, but no sound escaped his seemingly sealed throat.

Adrian's overwhelming presence felt like a wall he dared not challenge.

"Deputy Commander!"

The other Royal Knights shouted. Drawing their swords, they unleashed their fierce hostility upon Adrian.

"How dare you do this here! Do you know where you are?!"

"This is no place for a wastrel like you to run wild!!"

"I'll kill you this instant and rid the kingdom of your filth!!"

Their furious shouts rang through the palace hall. But Adrian remained utterly unmoved. Watching them with the same leisurely air, he slowly spoke.

"Do the Royal Knights slather their fucking manners on their bread instead of butter and eat them?"

An intangible force erupted from Adrian. Not a breath of wind blew inside the palace, yet his clothes billowed and flapped.

FWOOSH! FWOOSH!

A dark crimson aura surged over his entire body, stripping away every trace of his humanity. His eyes were now stained not with blood, but madness. The oppressive force pouring from him evoked something beyond human.

Every Royal Knight froze in place.

... That presence wasn't human. It was certainly... not something a mere wastrel could radiate.

"A-aaargh!"

Walter screamed and collapsed to the floor. Even the thought of fleeing failed to occur to him.

Just then—

"... Ugh."

Ellen stirred and rose from where he had struck the wall. His armor was torn, and blood ran down his forehead, but his fighting spirit remained intact.

"Ellen...! Ellen!"

Walter cried out, his voice verging on tears. Ellen had only been caught off guard before. If he fought properly, he could kill a wastrel like that in an instant.

"K-kill that wastrel bastard right now!!"

Walter shouted with complete faith in him. But that faith—

KRAAASH!

—shattered along with the deafening crash of the palace wall crumbling.

* * *

"Gaaagh...!!"

With an undignified scream, Ellen slammed into the wall once again.

Everyone was aghast. But no one was more shocked than Ellen himself.

'Just now...'

He had been hit in the abdomen. But when? No, with what? Not for a single instant, not a thing—

'I didn't perceive any of it...?'

The absurd speed left him stunned. His confusion froze his movements.

THWACK!

Once again, he failed to react to Adrian's swinging fist. His face crumpled under the blow, and broken teeth and blood flew from his mouth. The tremendous impact nearly knocked him unconscious.

But he hadn't won his position as deputy commander of the Royal Knights in a game of chance. His mind flashed into focus, his thoughts accelerating.

Adrian was not someone to underestimate. This was a formidable opponent. He banished the image of the count's wastrel son from his mind.

He tensed his core to regain his balance. Bracing his waist, he concentrated strength in his thighs. Aura coursed through his body. He focused that power at the tip of his sword and swung as he drew it.

Sword of the Fierce King. Third Form.

Regal Slash.

A wave of aura burst from his sword's tip. The surrounding air sank for an instant, then shook violently. Adrian didn't dodge. As though he had been waiting for this, he poised his sharpened nails...

'... Nails?'

Surely he wasn't going to block this with his nails? Calling him stupid would be giving him too much credit.

The Sword of the Fierce King was a sword art passed down through generations of Royal Knights—a supreme sword art honed through centuries of actual combat throughout the kingdom's history. Among its techniques, Regal Slash unleashed an explosive burst of aura the instant the sword was drawn.

This wasn't an attack one could simply block. It took at least an aura blade, the hallmark of a Master, to contend with it.

And he meant to stop it with mere "nails"?

Perhaps Adrian wasn't a wastrel. But he certainly appeared to be a greenhorn with no combat experience whatsoever and the split-second judgment of a half-wit.

Adrian's nails swept through the air. Sword met nail.

... Yet it was Ellen who was being pushed back.

CRAAACK!

The aura concentrated in Ellen's sword tore apart.

"Impossible!!"

The horrified exclamation escaped him unbidden.

How could human nails possibly do this? Nails meant for scratching an itch—how could they!

Were Adrian's nails equivalent to an aura blade...?

No, that wasn't all. It wasn't simply the power of his nails that had allowed Adrian to tear through Regal Slash. The sword's trajectory, the flow of aura, even the intent and movement behind the attack—he had calculated and countered every one of those elements in an instant.

Thoroughly honed combat sense and instincts. This wasn't mere strength. It was the result of judgment built through countless battles and experiences.

They said you could see only as much as you knew. As deputy commander of the Royal Knights, Ellen had experienced countless missions and battlefields himself. He could claim to possess experience and skill that stood up to anyone's.

... Yet he couldn't see it. He couldn't even begin to fathom its depth.

How many battlefields would someone have to traverse to reach such a state? How many brushes with life and death would it take to attain that level?

"Ghh...!"

Ellen gritted his teeth and revised his assessment once more. Impossible as it was to believe—

'... I can't easily win a head-on fight.'

He hurriedly put distance between them. Readjusting his stance, he exhaled deeply. But Adrian immediately kicked off the ground, as though determined not to give him an opening. The palace floor shattered, and the impact shook the entire palace like an earthquake.

The volume of the blast, the scale of the explosion... surpassed anything he had imagined.

'Danger!'

Ellen instantly raised his sword and swung on reflex, but—

Adrian slipped and flowed through a series of joint movements no human could possibly perform. His movements were unnaturally supple and swift, as though his body had no friction.

'How... is it possible to move like that?'

Yet Adrian did it effortlessly, gliding out of Ellen's attack range.

And then—

'I lost him...?'

It wasn't merely because of those swift, bizarre movements. Ellen couldn't see Adrian at all, as though he had evaporated.

An invisible death pierced his heart.

THWOOOM!!

A sound like a rubber ball bursting rang out, and Ellen's body jolted.

"Gaaah!!"

They were... on different levels. They belonged to entirely different leagues.

Ellen was unquestionably one of the finest fighters in the Kingdom of Battenberg. But what if the stage expanded to encompass the entire continent? He wouldn't even rank in the middle. This continent held many geniuses like him. No, countless people surpassed him. Viewed on a continental scale, he was merely one genius among many.

But Adrian was different. He gazed toward something unfathomably distant, burning with quiet anger. If Ellen was water in a well, Adrian was water in a river.

Though its flow might be gentle now, though its stream might look meager now, a river would flow quietly on and on, bearing the destiny to one day, without fail, meet the sea.

'Th-this is...!'

All Ellen could do was realize how small and powerless he was before that immense sea.

* * *

In the banquet hall where the court society gathering would be held, gold-trimmed tables stood in neat rows at the center. Soft candlelight and elegant fragrances filled every corner, adding to the refined atmosphere.

Palace maids bustled about the hall as Queen Marceline issued instructions.

"Move the candlesticks a little farther left, and adjust the lighting so it isn't too bright."

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Be sure the decorations aren't excessive, but do not sacrifice their dignity. The flowers on the tables must enhance the elegance."

Just as she was inspecting those details of the banquet hall—

RUMMMBLE...!!

The entire hall suddenly shook as though an earthquake had struck. A deafening crash followed. Queen Marceline stopped giving instructions and turned her head.

"What is happening?"

At her question, a maid standing by the door approached cautiously, looking flustered.

"There has reportedly been... a violent disturbance in the palace hall."

"A disturbance?"

"There appears to have been a confrontation with Prince Walter."

Queen Marceline's expression hardened. This was a day when the kingdom's high nobles were gathered for court society. Any disruption of order in the palace would directly undermine the royal court's authority. That, in turn, would call its control into question.

She didn't know what lunatic was running amok in the palace, but it didn't matter. Whoever it was would never be forgiven. And to think they had accosted a prince. That was a direct challenge to royal authority, giving her all the more reason to refuse forgiveness...

"The son of House Whitewolf is b-beating Sir Ellen, Prince Walter's escort, mercilessly... or so... I've been told..."

The maid's next words brought Queen Marceline's thoughts to a frozen halt.