Chapter 43

At the time when Harmiel and Armienne were enjoying the hot springs, there was a man sitting in the King’s office, hard at work.

The man’s appearance was identical to Fren’s—he was a blonde, handsome man who looked much like him. The only slight difference was that, unlike Fren, his chin was adorned with a dashing, neatly trimmed short beard, giving him the relaxed charm and style of a middle-aged man.

This man was none other than the King of this country and Fren’s father, Prelip von Tarten.

“Haaaam, there are still so many documents to process today.”

He let out a yawn, skimmed through the paperwork lazily, and then began sorting them into piles of documents that needed his seal and those that didn’t. Yet, despite seemingly rushing through the task, the stack of paperwork began to dwindle at an extraordinary pace.

“Ugh, how long am I supposed to keep doing this stuff?”

King Prelip thought to himself. He had actually planned to hand over the throne to Fren a bit early, watch over him from the side for a little while, and then spend a leisurely vacation at a hot spring inn—only for a sudden incident to blow everything up.

Specifically, the scandalous rumors surrounding Lady Armienne of the Duke of Celion’s estate and Prince Fren.

And for some reason, those rumors had spread in a way that was entirely unfavorable to the Prince, making it impossible to pass on the throne under such conditions.

The throne was a position that could only be handed over when absolute preparations were complete and everything was in a flawless state.

“Ugh, of course things had to blow up right at that moment. Honestly, whenever those bastards get involved, nothing ever goes right.”

Prelip recalled two faces from his academy days—the ones he used to bicker with constantly while remaining close friends. Ventor and Mentus. The memories of sharing a bond with those brothers, who he never imagined would become future dukes, and himself as the future king, were enough to make his chest swell with emotion just thinking about them.

“…I want to go find them and kill them right this second. I wonder if there’s any grounds to get those bastards executed.”

Of course, he didn’t mean that. No matter how many bad memories he had and how much he loathed looking at the Dukes, they were still the only people with whom he could truly open up and converse.

“They say you give an extra rice cake to the one you hate most, don’t they? Tsk.”

King Prelip simply dropped his thoughts about the Dukes. One way or another, he was a good king who cared for his friends.

Right then, his smart son Fren burst through the office door in a hurried panic.

“Your Majesty!”

Even so, public and private business had to be separated during working hours, so King Prelip looked at Fren—who was calling him Your Majesty—with a satisfied expression and asked. Truly, with such fine education, he wondered whose son he could possibly be.

“Well now, what brings you running in here in such a rush, Prince? Heh-heh. Did the Duke of Celion or the Duke of Harun pull something again?”

Hearing him say that as a joke, Fren nodded as if wondering how his father had figured it out.

As expected, my father is an amazing, capable king. To think he noticed even without me saying a word.

…Thinking that, Fren finally caught his breath and spoke casually.

“How on earth did you know? Haha. I can’t believe you already figured it out. The Duke of Celion and the Duke of Harun have simultaneously declared an emergency alert.”

Before Fren’s words could even finish, the King let out a deep sigh, dropping his head, and slammed his fist down onto the desk.

Crack!

The desk, said to have been crafted from a millennium-old World Tree, instantly fractured with a web of cracks before splitting right down the middle.

“What?! These damned blockhead bastards finally went and pulled a stunt just to kill me from high blood pressure! I’ll go take those bastards’ heads off right—”

However, calming his anger just as quickly, the King pulled a thick cigarette from his drawer, lit it, clamped it between his lips, drew in a deep breath, and let out a long stream of smoke. Perhaps due to the overwhelming scale of his fury, he had hit peak post-nut clarity of life.

“Huuu, you know what, forget it. Just leave them be. Oh, and if they try to start a war or something, just tell the opposing nation that the Dukes are no longer people of our kingdom, so they can roast them or boil them however they please.”

“Pardon?”

Seeing his son look utterly flabbergasted by the unbelievable words, King Prelip threw an arm around his shoulders and puffed out another cloud of smoke.

“Cough, cough!”

Such hooligan-like behavior was so completely natural that Fren couldn’t say a word and just stared blankly at his father, the King.

Seeing Fren like that, the King spoke.

“Son. Since I’ll be handing over the throne to you anyway, I’ll teach you the most important tip in this world.”

“Cough, understood. I’ll listen closely.”

The King took another drag from his cigarette, blew smoke rings toward the sky, and spoke.

“First, pay no mind to the Dukes of Harun and Celion. If you don’t, you won’t live out your natural lifespan.”

“………”

Fren tilted his head, wondering if this was truly the most important tip in the world.

“Second, never trust those bastards. Normally they act like they’d give you the shirts off their backs, going ‘Your Majesty! Your Majesty!’, but the moment it involves their daughters or their wives, they’re bastards who’ll even cut off the King’s head.”

“Hmm.”

Hearing that, Fren had nothing to say because he had a recent memory that came to mind. Only a few months ago, Duke Ventor had tried to take his head off.

“These two tips are essential for living as a king. Keep them engraved in your heart from now on.”

Watching the King pat his own chest and stride out after saying those words, Fren asked. Piles of paperwork that the King still needed to process were floating around and scattering everywhere.

“Where are you going, Your Majesty?”

At Fren’s question, King Prelip clicked his tongue and offered one final piece of advice.

“Tsk, third, a person needs to know how to be flexible. I’ll leave the paperwork to you as a special favor. I’m off to go see our cute Primia.”

Screeech! Bang!

Watching the back of King Prelip as he slammed the door shut as crudely as a common thug, Fren thought to himself.

In my eyes, my father and the Dukes are all exactly the same.

Fren muttered as he looked at the piles of work documents still left over, so numerous he couldn’t even count the pages.

“They say birds of a feather flock together. Shit. This is too foul to stomach.”

Inside Heinel’s room at the Duke of Celion’s estate, the curtains were drawn tight, blocking out almost all sunlight despite it being broad daylight. Inside, Heinel sat leaning back in a chair, reading a book illuminated by the modest glow of a lit candle.

-Thump-thump-thump!
-Get ready immediately!
-Move it over there, hurry up!

At the sudden commotion outside, Heinel brushed his hair back and muttered.

“How noisy. It ruins my concentration for reading. Tesila.”

When Heinel called out someone’s name, a maid emerged straight from Heinel’s shadow. If an ordinary person had witnessed that sight, they would have fallen backward in shock, but Heinel gave his command as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Go report on what’s going on.”

“Yes, Master.”

The maid, who usually addressed him as Young Master in front of others, bowed her head with the title of Master and then was instantly sucked back into the shadow. Within mere minutes, she popped right back out of Heinel’s shadow.

“Young Lady Armienne has reportedly run away from home.”

At the maid Tesila’s words, Heinel’s eyes widened into perfect circles.

“Is that true?”

“It is, Master. If it is a lie, I will gladly accept any punishment whatsoever.”

The maid Tesila looked at Heinel with a gaze that practically begged to be punished, and seeing her, Heinel let out a snort of contempt and ignored her.

“Ah…”

Tesila’s voice, tinged with a hint of disappointment, carried a deep sense of joy.

The master is ignoring me with a look of disdain. Ahh.

Seeing Tesila like that, Heinel spat out a single line.

“Tsk, what a frivolous wretch. The only things packed inside that head of yours are such vulgar thoughts, which is why you’ll always be bowing your head at the soles of my feet, Tesila.”

At Heinel’s verbal abuse, Tesila trembled and bowed her head low. She didn’t seem to be shaking out of resentment, but rather out of sheer delight.

“Y-Yes, you’re right. I am a frivolous, vulgar wretch who always thinks of nothing but my master’s punishments, ahh!”

This should be enough… muttered Heinel before turning back to Tesila and opening his mouth.

“Prepare a party.”

“Might I ask what kind of party you are referring to?”

At Tesila’s question, Heinel broke into a bright smile.

“A party to pray that Armienne—that cockroach of a bitch who wouldn’t even die if a meteorite hit her—never comes back.”

“Understood, Master.”

Watching Tesila open the door and head out to arrange the party, Heinel quietly opened his book and began reading once more.

Carusien, who had reported to work as usual to teach swordsmanship lessons, was utterly stunned by the news that Armienne had run away.

“Do you happen to know why the Young Lady ran away?”

“Kya!”

Carusien had grabbed a passing maid in a hurry to ask, but the maid, having stared up at Carusien’s face from point-blank range, suffered the illusion that her eyes were temporarily blinding her and collapsed backward on the spot.

Panicking, he quickly caught the falling maid and laid her gently on the lawn, just in time to notice a group of maids clustered together in the distance.

The atmosphere among the maids gathered over there, however, seemed entirely different from the people scurrying around in a rush. They were whispering among themselves, and though an ordinary person wouldn’t have caught it, the sound carried far too well to Carusien’s ears, sharpened by the heightened senses of reaching the Master stage.

-The Madam went with the Young Lady to a hot spring inn in the city of ‘Aqua.’

-Kya! Then our Young Lady collection (?) is going to get even bigger now.

-Shh, quiet. The Madam said not to tell a single soul.

Listening to their words, Carusien narrowed his eyes and tilted his head.

The Madam? Collection?

Momentarily baffled by the incomprehensible terms, he snapped back to reality the next second upon remembering that Armienne had gone to a hot spring inn in Aqua.

“Should I tell the Duke?”

He debated whether to report this piece of intelligence to Duke Ventor, but the very next instant, his figure vanished into thin air like a gust of wind.

It might not have amounted to anything, but he wanted to be the man who found her first.