Ian’s Victory Parade

Bwoooong—!

A deep foghorn echoed across the harbor of the capital, Pullea. At the sound, the gathered crowds erupted into cheers. All eyes were fixed on the colossal battleship, larger than any other vessel nearby.

To see a Pullea-class battleship—the pride of the Doicheun Empire—up close was something few could have imagined. Pride swelled in every chest for the Polia Navy and for Prince Ian, who had captured it.

In a war that had mostly delivered news of defeat, the colonial fleet’s victory and their message of triumph erased the sting of constant failure. Naturally, the two most famous figures in the Polia Kingdom at the moment were Admiral Nudelria and Prince Ian—the heroes of victory.

“Long live Admiral Nudelria—!”

“Long live Prince Ian—!”

Everyone shouted the names of the returning heroes of the colonial fleet. The cheers of hundreds of thousands of citizens filled the harbor. Reporters’ notebooks were already filled with detailed accounts of the scene. By tomorrow, the newspapers would spread the fever of the celebration to every corner of the kingdom.

As the crowd cheered for the returning fleet, Ian stood on the bridge of the Mythos, looking around the harbor with deep emotion.

‘Just a few years ago, I was standing over there, watching a scene like this from afar. Life really is unpredictable. I never imagined I’d be the one in this position.’

He recalled watching the return of their fleet after victory against the Nubea Kingdom—greeted with similar fanfare. It was surreal to now be experiencing it firsthand. His gaze drifted toward the outskirts of the harbor.

‘Armin’s probably out there watching all of this.’

He could easily imagine Armin grinning madly, desperate to climb aboard the battleship. That thought alone brought a smile to Ian’s face. Seeing Ian’s reaction, his aide-de-camp, Captain Mardin Russo, cautiously asked:

“Captain, you seem to be in good spirits?”

“Ah, yes. I must be happy to be home again.”

“Haha, I’m also really glad to be back home.”

“You’ll be spending some time on leave with your family then.”

“Yes, I’m planning to rest for a few months.”

With today’s events concluded, he was set to enjoy a long-awaited break. Having endured war for so long, both body and mind needed time to recover. Not just him—Deputy Captain Derian Dico and many others were also scheduled for extended leave.

‘Meanwhile, the Mythos will likely undergo proper maintenance and reverse engineering at the shipyard.’

Out at the large shipyard near the capital, they were surely waiting for the Mythos. Truthfully, the ship’s condition was far from perfect. There were still visible traces of the shelling during its capture, and various systems needed repair. Full restoration was the plan.

‘And as a bonus, they’ll be analyzing the ship to integrate its tech into our own navy.’

No doubt the shipyard was full of top-level naval engineers ready to dissect and study the vessel. Normally, entrusting such a ship to others would feel risky, but if it meant properly analyzing it, the benefits would be enormous.

‘With this, we’ll be able to repair future damage quickly—and if we replicate those shells, resupply won’t be a problem.’

It seemed highly likely that within a few years, the kingdom would develop its own 305mm-class naval guns. Not just any country could reverse-engineer these things, but the Polia Kingdom had steadily advanced its naval technology and had built up its know-how.

‘And the parade… Armin’s probably at that café, waiting to watch again.’

As he mused, the Mythos was pulled toward the docking station by tugboats and finally moored. The temporary anchor was dropped, and Ian disembarked.

From there, preparations for the victory parade began. He’d been informed in advance, but the process still required over three hours. Now he understood why past parades didn’t begin immediately after the fleet’s return.

About four hours after arrival in the capital, the victory parade finally began.

March, march, march—!

All personnel marched in perfect unison. Along the broad avenues, the capital’s citizens cheered as they welcomed the returning navy soldiers.

Waaahhhhh—!!

“Long live the Polia Kingdom—!”

“Long live His Majesty the King—!”

“Long live Admiral Nudelria!”

“Long live Prince Ian—!”

Colorful paper confetti fluttered in the air. Amid this, Ian rode a white horse clad in a magnificent ceremonial barding alongside Admiral Nudelria. He himself was wearing the ornate uniform tailored specifically for royal princes.

Watching the crowds cheer for him from all sides was a surreal experience. So many people chanting his name—it felt bewildering. For someone who had always been out of the spotlight, the sheer attention was overwhelming.

When he turned his head briefly, he could hear piercing screams:

“Kyahhh! Prince Ian looked at us! He saw us—!”

It was dizzying. He wasn’t some celebrity—what was with this over-the-top reaction?

‘This is… too much.’

He’d heard that he’d become fairly well-known on the mainland, but not to this extreme. Just as he was processing it, Admiral Nudelria, riding beside him, struck up a conversation.

“What do you think? The people truly adore you, Prince.”

“Honestly, I’m a bit dazed. I didn’t expect to draw this much attention.”

“Haha, it’s all thanks to the feats you’ve achieved. I doubt your popularity will fade anytime soon. Everyone sees you as a hero now.”

“…A hero… That title still makes me squirm. I’m not someone worthy of that.”

“But if everyone believes it, who’s going to argue? Hahaha.”

Watching Admiral Nudelria laugh, Ian figured it would take a long time for the excitement and adoration to die down. Just then, a familiar building came into view—he could see a terrace too.

‘That’s where Armin should be.’

And just as he expected, Armin leaned over the railing, arms spread wide, shouting something toward him. Ian couldn’t help but laugh again.

‘Of course you’re there. You were waiting for this.’

Although he’d always found him a nuisance, Ian realized he felt a surprising emptiness without Armin tagging along. Raising a fist toward Armin, he silently signaled: “I made it back alive.” In response, Armin raised his fist in the same way.

Naturally, the surrounding people mimicked Ian’s gesture and raised their fists as well. Ian blinked in surprise, but that only seemed to make him look cooler—causing the crowd to cheer even louder.

‘They say if an artist takes a dump, people still call it art. Is this like that for me?’

Though it was a crude metaphor, the undeniable fact was that his popularity had exploded—and with it came a creeping sense of anxiety. Being the center of attention was fine for now, but what came next? He was no longer the invisible Ninth Prince; he had become the prince on whom the entire kingdom had their eyes.

‘Not just attention… I’ll be under a lot more scrutiny too.’

The future worried him. His current situation—holding the rank of Mustaq and owning a battleship—was far off from the original plan. Once he reached adulthood, he had intended to flee the kingdom with his mother and younger sister, to start a quiet life in a distant land where no one knew them.

‘That’s going to be difficult now.’

He was probably too recognizable now. With so much attention on him, even foreign countries were likely aware of his face. If they tried to hide away abroad, someone would surely recognize him sooner or later.

‘I’ll need a new plan after my coming-of-age ceremony.’

He blamed it all on his father—the man who threw his sons into war. If he hadn’t gone to the battlefield, none of this attention would have happened. The trenches he’d introduced were merely a desperate attempt to survive and protect the city.

Even the battleship’s capture had been born from fear of disgrace. He had only hoped to hand it over and receive some compensation. But Count Dementis had stepped in unexpectedly, and now the ship was officially his.

And so he ended up wearing the unheard-of Mustaq rank insignia.

As he worried about what lay ahead, the parade continued, and Ian looked around at the endless crowds lining every street along the route. It seemed the entire capital had come out to watch.

About halfway through the parade, a massive victory arch came into view. Bright white and engraved with bas-relief images, it depicted famous naval battles from the past.

Only victors were allowed to pass beneath that arch. And though the war with the Doicheun Empire had ended in neither total victory nor defeat, only Ian’s side had achieved a decisive win. As such, they alone were permitted to pass through the arch.

Ian imagined many naval officers were secretly jealous of the colonial fleet. The empire’s main forces had failed, while the second-string fleet—his—had returned in triumph.

After passing through the arch, the parade proceeded to the royal palace. Ian recalled once returning via the palace’s back gate, where no one had paid him any attention.

But today was different. Everyone’s eyes were on him.

Of course, the primary hero of this victory was undoubtedly Admiral Nudelria. He had devised the operation and led the defeat of the Doicheun colonial fleet.

His fame had skyrocketed. The surprise attack left a blemish, but a win was a win—and the truth of that couldn’t be denied. It was Admiral Nudelria who walked proudly at the head of the group toward the king.

Surrounding the king were the queen and many of the royal consorts. But Ian’s eyes were drawn to two particular figures—his mother and younger sister. A surge of emotion filled his chest, coupled with a sliver of anxiety.

‘It’s been almost two years… Will she still recognize me?’

The thought worried him, but there would be time for that later. For now, he dismounted and stood before the king.

Thousands watched. Most were nobles or businessmen, judging from their attire and presence.

‘I’ve definitely left an impression now.’

As Ian thought that, the king began to speak. His voice was solemn and commanding, offering praise for the victory achieved in the colonies. It was the first time Ian had ever heard a compliment directed at him. The feeling was strangely bittersweet.

‘So I finally got some attention, all because I did something like this?’

But he couldn’t feel truly pleased. To Ian, the king—his father—was a man whose presence in his life didn’t matter either way.

“…Therefore, I, Hugo de Polia, hereby bestow upon you the kingdom’s highest honor—the Dimeira.”

The Dimeira, the kingdom’s most prestigious decoration, had only ever been awarded once before—to Marquis Beloster, who had led the victory in the war against the Nubea Kingdom.

Now, Admiral Nudelria and Prince Ian were to receive it.

The honor came with perks. First, a monthly stipend of 3,000 Grang—amounting to 36,000 Grang a year. In addition, recipients enjoyed significant tax exemptions.

‘If I save carefully, this one medal could let me live in luxury for life. That is… assuming the kingdom doesn’t collapse.’

As that thought crossed his mind, Ian watched as Admiral Nudelria was decorated with the Dimeira. Soon after, the king approached and pinned the medal on Ian’s left breast.

Then, in a low voice, the king spoke.

“You’ve done well.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

And that was it. No warmth. No praise. Just a cold, brief exchange. Clearly, to the king, Ian was nothing more than one son among many.

With that, the victory parade finally came to an end.