30 Years Have Passed Since the Prologue - Chapter 83

WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Hydrogen B

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Chapter 83: 14. The King's Silence (1)

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As they crossed the Krasilov-Droan border, one of the Huscarls who had remained silent approached Einar and asked,

"Brother, are you all right?"

"No matter how lazy I've become lately, do you think this would tire me out?"

"That isn't what I meant...."

The Huscarl glanced sideways at Einar's arm.

The blood had only just dried on his forearm, leaving it streaked with thin red lines.

"You watched the whole thing, so why ask now? Yes, fine. I lost."

Einar gave a dry laugh and shook his head.

He had lost in skill. The fight had been one he overwhelmed with raw strength alone.

It was too embarrassing to call it a spar.

He had taught that bastard everything, from how to grip an axe to how to cut down a man. Yet somewhere along the way, Ivan had grown enough to challenge his own techniques.

"In tactical exchanges, I'm half a move behind him now. If he had twice as much mana as he does now, I would've been the one lying there."

His eyes were good. Einar had felt it for a long time, but they seemed sharper than before.

The experience of cutting down one of the Seven Dragon Generals had likely tempered him. What an achievement.

"No, Brother. No matter how fast Petrovich was, he couldn't withstand your secret technique."

"Idiot. That's exactly why I lost."

Clicking his tongue, Einar looked back at his dull-witted younger brother.

"Do you think that bastard had no hidden card left? He simply chose not to use it. I stole victory by using everything I had in a spar. If that isn't a loss, what is? And brother, didn't I tell you? His eyes are good."

Even as Einar drove in the final blow, Ivan's eyes had not left the axe blade descending on him.

There would be no second time. Ivan would not fall for the same move twice.

If they sparred again, it would not go as it had today.

"My blood's boiling."

When it came to fighting great armies at close quarters, Einar had believed himself superior to Maximilian.

But was that still true? Could he truly claim to be the strongest man in all humanity?

Einar gave a quiet laugh.

I've grown old.

The thought pleased him.

As long as a man had a worthy rival, his skills would not rust with age.

"That's why I gave Esi permission."

"Petrovich didn't seem interested in Esi...."

"I know. His feelings aren't what matter. What matters is the approval of Droan's king. I've marked him first, so who would dare snatch him away?"

According to Esi's letters, Aesidis clearly liked Ivan. Quite actively, at that.

And Ivan was a man who had defeated one of the Seven Dragon Generals. Other than the Hero, no human had achieved such a feat.

That meant he was more than worthy of marrying Droan's future ruler.

Droan revered strength. Einar knew it instinctively. After he died, his homeland would surely fracture.

It was a kingdom built not on a sophisticated social system, but on the charisma of one man. Without the overwhelming force that was Einar, there would be no way to restrain Droan's Jarls.

Which was why his successor had to become the strongest man in Droan. Aesidis was the most exceptional of his children, and if the man she had chosen happened to be that strong....

It was only right to claim him in advance. That was the conclusion he had reached as a father, a king, and a warrior of Droan.

Ivan's feelings did not matter.

"Just over two years until Esi graduates, was it? Good. That's enough time to retire. I should finally relax, drink myself senseless, and watch my grandchildren play."

Grinning, Einar quickened his pace.

He had much to prepare.

Ep. 14. The King's Silence

The phrase diligent civil servant was used in much the same way as dragon or unicorn. It meant something you could hardly ever find. (Again, they did exist.)

Therefore, Pavel, a reasonable Krasilov civil servant who had belonged to the rebel army until two weeks ago, was once again shut inside a hospital room, crunching on snacks.

He was not injured. If he had been wounded on duty, he would not be lying in a hospital room. He would be sprawled across Elizaveta's office, demanding hazard pay.

His superior was currently hospitalized in this room. Therefore, Pavel was not abandoning his post or neglecting his duties. He was diligently carrying out his role as his superior's attendant.

"So what did I say to him? 'Come, Einar. Today, my spear shall drink the blood of a hero.' Ah.... You should've seen the terrified look on Einar's face."

"Mm."

"Want more apple?"

"Stop eating them! I didn't peel those for you, Uncle!"

"Then write your name on them next time. In this country, it is legal to reclaim all property with no stated owner for the national treasury."

As a civil servant with active authority to reclaim property for the treasury, Pavel crunched through the apples Isabelle had painstakingly peeled.

"And stop talking about drinking a hero's blood! I was there too!"

"Me too!! If my dad had fought then, Uncle would've become a fallen patriot that very day!"

"Don't use words that are too difficult for you. It makes you sound stupid. You wouldn't be a fallen patriot, you'd just die in the line of duty."

"It's the same thing!"

Pavel looked at Aesidis as though she were pathetic, then asked,

"By the way, aren't you two going to school today? Don't you have class?"

"Uncle, you never went to university, did you?"

"Huh...?"

Was she suddenly picking a fight over education?

Universities didn't even exist in my day.... They did.

Aesidis openly mocked Pavel's aggrieved expression, puffed out her chest, and declared proudly,

"First-years are allowed to skip class whenever we want!"

"Don't you know your tuition is expensive?"

"Our subjects pay for it. You should try being royalty too."

"Wow.... I'm holding back because I used to be a Krasilov rebel. If I'd been a Droan rebel, today would've been the first day of the revolution."

"Droan doesn't have rebels. Challenging the royal authority is legal from the start!"

Listening to that, Ivan tilted his head.

There had been one until recently, though.

Of course, under Droan culture, challenging a Jarl was legal. It was also a dead law, since no one attempted it while Einar was king.

Applying to challenge Einar for the throne would be the most certain method of suicide available to a Droan warrior.

At least there was a chance of surviving a blood eagle. Beneath Einar's axe, there was no such possibility.

"Mm."

Thinking of that axe blade made his chest ache again. Had it cut even an inch deeper, it would have pierced his ribs and burst his heart.

He truly was a warrior of the Hero Party.

Ivan had to admit that he had been arrogant. He had thought he could copy it if he saw it, like Einar's other techniques.

That was not the case. Skill driven to its absolute limit was no different from magic. It belonged to a realm that could not be structurally replicated by another person, nor taught to one.

It was a lifetime made flesh, achieved by honing one's own inner image.

That blow had split mountain ranges and torn openings through armies of ten thousand. It could not be imitated simply by understanding the stance, flow of mana, and distribution of force.

What a shame. He was reminded again why he had been nothing more than a reserve.

The people the Hero Party had faced were powerful enough to be called gods. Only those capable of honing blows that could work even against such beings earned the right to stand in the same class as the Hero.

Ivan had barely reached that level himself, but perhaps an imitation could never surpass the original. He smiled bitterly and opened his mouth.

"Timing!"

"Mmff."

At that moment, a slice of apple was shoved into his mouth.

When he looked up, Isabelle was smiling brightly at him.

"Fast, right? Amazing, right?"

"It is. When did you learn it?"

"I kept practicing! And I'll keep doing it! What do you think of your student's growth? Aren't you proud?"

"Student, huh."

"If you taught me, you're my teacher! No taking it back now!"

Had she reached the realm of a superhuman? That speed would have been impossible without the reaction speed of neural acceleration.

Ivan finished chewing the apple and gave a quiet laugh.

"You worked hard."

"Yes!"

With her hands behind her back, Isabelle shouted cheerfully.

The fingers she hid behind her wriggled wildly. She could not contain her happiness. She had kept this skill secret because she wanted to show him first once she learned it.

And there was one more thing.

He said his soul had been corrupted.

He also said he had lost his desires.

No. That was wrong. Einar had not lied, but there was at least one thing he did not know.

Uncle had definitely cried that day.

She remembered him shedding tears while eating monstrous cooking.

Sometimes, he had looked at her and smiled faintly.

There were times when he sank into memories of the past. There were times when he had grown faintly angry.

He had emotions. That man was not fading away. Even if those colors had dulled into a washed-out gray, fragments of emotion still remained within him.

That was enough.

Never.

She would never let him meet the same end as her father.

That was the vow she had made. With that resolve, she had learned the skill over the past few days, even as she visited Uncle in the hospital every day, attended classes during the day, then trained from the moment school ended until dawn.

She would throw even a handful of straw onto the dying embers of the faint desire he still held, and make the spark burn again.

"I'm telling you, my dad already gave permission."

"You're awfully forward. What is a grown young lady like you trying to do?"

"Boo, you sound like such an old man."

"It still hurts when an old man hits you."

As Isabelle swore she would never lose to that foolish Droan girl who was arguing that greeting each other's parents and receiving permission to marry counted as meeting the family, she clenched the hand behind her back.

She still had one more thing left.

"Uncle."

"Mm."

"Once you're better. After you leave the hospital. Would you like to come to my house and eat kimchi?"

"...!?"

With her Ideal held straight, a lifetime made flesh through honing her own inner image.

A secret technique of the Hero's school. Traditional Cuisine Mastery.

There was no one in the world better than a Hero at learning something.

Since the last festival, Isabelle had been ready to unveil the finishing move she had prepared with Yuri.

"I made stew with it too. It'll taste better than what you had last time."

Ignoring Aesidis's dry heaves, Isabelle smiled sweetly.

Ivan slowly nodded with a stiff expression.