106 — 11 (7)

Orpendius, the Prince-King of the Duchy of Eron, could not hide his delighted expression when he saw Louis enter. He made it so obvious that there were likely few in this hall who failed to notice. Yet no one found it strange. As Louis came in, the retainers all began to shuffle backward. It was the first time they had ever felt this broad audience hall look so narrow.

The Prince-King was a middle-aged man who gave off the air of a scholar. The moment Louis saw him, he felt slightly disappointed. He was the king, yet he did not seem capable of giving Louis what he wanted. It was not that he possessed any particular charisma, either, and for a king he looked overly ordinary. Louis had just met the sons of the great houses, and they seemed more impressive than this.

A few more words were exchanged. Louis rose from his seat. The formal party would be held tomorrow. Louis judged that would likely be his proper, official meeting with the Prince-King. Here, even the Prince-King had to watch himself, because there were far too many ministers to speak privately. If he had confidently insisted on a private audience with Louis, Louis might have rated Orpendius a little higher. But the water had already gone under the bridge.

After Louis finished his greetings and left, Orpendius was suddenly seized by anxiety. He had thought that if he hosted a grand party and soothed him properly, Louis would come over—but Louis was not an ordinary man.

‘Can I do it?’

The Prince-King asked himself. It had been good that he judged Louis to be a valuable figure, but seeing him with his own eyes, Louis exceeded his predictions. The Prince-King had met Remitri and had met Fred. He remembered their excellence clearly. Yet Louis seemed to have fused the strengths of both. Having often seen Sword Experts, the Prince-King quickly realized Louis had reached that level.

‘At this rate, won’t he become uncontrollable…? This is troubling.’

Louis went back outside, and at the castle gate he also exchanged brief words with the sons of each great house who had been waiting for him. The amusing part was that since these were men who governed regions, as they spoke, dozens of soldiers and attendants were gathered in front, murmuring among themselves.

Even so, Louis could see with his own eyes that small squabbles were breaking out between soldiers and attendants, and it was clear enough that House Batenberg and House Orsini did not get along. At this point, even if one assigned rough priorities, the Prince-King ranked the lowest of them all. In effect, he had no special advantage that could truly benefit Louis.

Even if he granted some sort of exclusive right over a region, once Louis controlled his territory, he could simply do things quietly anyway, which lowered Louis’s preference for the Prince-King even further. That did not mean Orpendius was a worthless man. Among ordinary people, he was someone whose competence would stand out. But the timing was poor: the heads and sons of the great houses were far above average.

Of course, the one receiving the greatest assessment in all this was Louis himself—yet Louis did not truly realize it. After the first day’s commotion ended, Louis entered the mansion assigned to him. A vast field stretched before it, so the soldiers he had brought could pitch camp there. Louis went inside. The eight-story grand mansion was, by any measure, larger and more splendid than Louis’s original home.

“Not bad. The Prince-King put in quite a bit of effort.”

It was not as if he meant to dwell on such things, but it did seem certain that the Prince-King had given him the best mansion in every sense.

It was morning, and as always, people were packed in. Every last one of them was a noble. They had gathered here for one purpose only: to see Louis. Louis was kneeling, and Prince-King Orpendius was looking down at him, holding a sword. This specially designed place was flooded with brilliant sunlight pouring through stained glass on both sides. The weather was remarkably clear, as if even the heavens acknowledged Louis today. Since many nobles held succession ceremonies under dreary skies, quite a few were already feeling envy over something as small as this difference alone.

Women alternated their gaze between Louis and the king, marveling all the more under the surrounding colors.

‘To witness a scene like this… I’m truly lucky.’

‘So handsome.’

‘I want to marry him.’

At the same time, the male nobles had their own tangled feelings. They, too, were men born to good stock, who had always lived in the dominant position. Facing a situation where they might envy someone like this was uncomfortable even for them.

‘So the blessing of the gods was real.’

‘A duke… at that age. Enviable beyond words. A position I may never reach in my lifetime.’

‘So he’s formally Duke Louis now. I wonder how the great houses will move. Three houses are rumored already; the rest still haven’t responded, so it will be decided at the party this afternoon. Hah… I’d better prepare thoroughly.’

‘His mana is considerable. He’s only practiced sword and war—so he must be stupid in other areas, surely.’

Amid this swarm of desires, the sword gently brushed both shoulders.

“I, Prince-King Orpendius, do hereby formally recognize the succession of Pontina Louis, the third legitimate son of House Pontina. From this moment, Pontina Louis is the head of House Pontina, and I bid you assist me henceforth so that the Duchy of Eron may prosper. Rise, Duke Pontina Louis.”

Louis rose, and received the sword bestowed directly by the Prince-King. He accepted it, sheathed it, and then spoke the oath he had memorized.

Perhaps because his anxiety had been shaken off for this moment, the Prince-King wore a satisfied smile. But beside him, Kaban Ferdinand—captain of the royal guard of Eron, its protector, and a Sword Master—was staring at Louis with an uneasy expression. Between his long white beard and the wrinkles carved by years, powerful, steadfast eyes were set like steel.

Ferdinand’s gaze on Louis was complex. In one sense it was wary, and in another it was admiring. This old Sword Master had instantly noticed Louis’s bizarre circumstances. Louis’s swordsmanship did not seem especially high, yet his mana reserves—barely enough—still made him a Sword Expert. And that was what mattered. Only swordsmen knew how many people swung their blades and trained to extremes, ready to die, just to cross that threshold. If ordinary folk heard of it, they would click their tongues; if religious men heard of it, they would frown.

Since House Pontina was a martial house, it was not impossible for two Sword Experts to appear in one generation—but Louis’s age was the problem. Ferdinand remembered Pontina Fred well, for the simple reason that when Fred had once stayed in the capital, it was Ferdinand himself who had taken him as a disciple and trained him.

Naturally, Ferdinand could not view Louis kindly. Yet more than that, Louis’s attitude felt unsettling. Louis did not give off even a trace of the foolish purity Ferdinand had sensed in Fred. It might only have been intuition, but Ferdinand judged it a fact that must be watched cautiously.

‘Too young—far too young. Even Fred, a prodigy, lacked mana by a wide margin at that age. And it’s not only that. To wage war requires immense knowledge. Unlike Fred, who only swung a sword, if the rumors are true, Louis possesses high-level ability in both directions… Is that even possible?’

Having brushed past countless talents as he aged, Ferdinand immediately recognized that Louis was not merely impressive—he was extraordinary. Yet because of Ferdinand’s taciturn nature, even if he had doubts, it seemed he would not hurl them directly at Louis. As a rule of his palace life, Ferdinand never attended parties, but this time he decided to break that rule and attend.

Meanwhile, because so many eyes were fixed on him, Louis did not notice the Sword Master’s unpleasant stare. Instead, he was filled to bursting. From the moment he received the sword, he felt it—this was the moment he had dreamed of for so long, no, until now. He was the owner of the ducal succession. He had become the true head of House Pontina. And he had received formal recognition from the king. He had been treated as a duke already, but having it confirmed by the king gave Louis a new feeling altogether.

When the king coughed once, as if that were the spark, thunderous applause erupted. Not from commoners, but from nobles who loved to put on airs—fervent applause. Listening to it, Louis felt sincerely that he had grown.

The afternoon was the party. It was not only the nobles who held festivities; the citizens inside the capital were already in a celebratory mood. It was not exactly a festival, but they were sharing in the excitement all the same. The capital was so stirred by the public visit of the houses that governed each region that the noise outside reached even the castle. Since this was something that happened only after a long time, perhaps they optimistically believed the world would go smoothly from here on out. In any case, as the Prince-King had announced beforehand, the party’s scale was—so Louis understood—its maximum. Indeed, a party was not merely a place for cheerful conversation. A party, in itself, was a means of reaffirming a power-holder’s power. The Prince-King’s willingness to spend so lavishly was likely because he wanted to swagger before the other houses—an implied message that his finances were solid enough to afford it.

In any event, while the sun sank, the party only gained more momentum. Even at a party—and even among nobles—there were those who were popular and those who were not. Those who were utterly unpopular tended to sip liquor alone or in pairs even early in the evening, staring toward the noisier center.

Naturally, at the very core where the greatest crowd gathered was Louis. After all, even the party’s pretext was Louis. Louis constantly shook hands or exchanged greetings with those congratulating him. Though he had never been in a place like this before, he was enjoying the atmosphere comfortably and with amusement. Anything was better than a war where blood flew through the air…

Around Louis, who was surrounded by viscounts and barons—and occasionally counts—beautiful women filled the edges, waiting for an opening. Their target was, of course, Louis. The hall was crowded with young ladies who would have been happy to speak with him even briefly, let alone dance.

Among them, three women in neat dresses—women whose looks would draw attention anywhere—were chatting.

“Wow… do you think we can talk to him even for a moment?”

“Once the greetings settle down, there’ll definitely be a gap. Let’s push in properly then.”

A woman who seemed somewhat shy added last,

“We have to time it well. Look around.”

Only then did their gaze land on the clusters of women stationed on all sides nearby.

“Batenberg Linsia, Orsini Orlanne, and Mary of House Kaban.”

Even among the groups of women, the most central and beautiful beauties were also measuring their chance to speak.