"Why the hell are they here!?"
The allied army was not the only one caught off guard.
Eric, the king of Krepfeld, cried out in shock as he stared at the approaching Red Wing Knights.
"Why have the Imperial Royal Guard Knights come all the way to the border!? No—how were they even able to arrive this quickly in the first place!?"
"Now is not the time to question that, Your—Your Majesty! You must withdraw at once before they arrive!"
"Your Majesty? Your Majesty, you say?"
At those words, Eric's eyes sharpened.
He had declared independence months ago, yet they were still calling him Your Majesty in that manner.
Realizing his mistake, the noble who had urged retreat hurriedly corrected himself.
"Y-Your Majesty… I misspoke—"
"No, that's enough. It has already been centuries since our status was degraded by the Empire. It's only natural to grow accustomed to being trampled underfoot."
"That's not what I meant—!"
"I will not run."
"Your Majesty!"
"Silence! No matter how renowned the Imperial Guard Knights may be, they're nothing more than a handful! Are you telling me to flee from a mere knightly order!?"
No matter how fearsome their reputation as the strongest might be, they were an unmistakable minority compared to the forces of Krepfeld.
If he withdrew here, rumors would surely spread that he had been cowed by the majesty of the Imperial House and tucked his tail between his legs.
On the other hand, if he crushed them here, he could proclaim Krepfeld's military might to the entire continent.
"Defeat the Red Wing Knights here and capture the First Prince! Prepare yourselves!"
"Yes, Your Majesty!"
The royal guards of Krepfeld answered their king's command, their morale soaring.
Their renown might pale in comparison to that of the Red Wing Knights, but those gathered here were still Krepfeld's finest elite.
Perhaps it would be different if their numbers were equal, but with more than ten times the manpower, there was no way they believed they would lose.
"So they really intend to fight us head-on. They lack all sense of their place. Then again, if they had that kind of sense to begin with, they wouldn't have started a rebellion."
The one leading the Red Wing Knights let out a mocking snort from within his helmet.
They were fewer than even one-tenth of the Krepfeld army, yet his voice was brimming with composure.
"All units, raise your lances. Prepare the Dragon's Fangs."
Wooooong—
At the brief command, a crimson haze rippled through the entire Red Wing Knights order.
Dozens of runes engraved into their armor and spears flared brightly, their glow intensifying by the second.
And when that radiance grew strong enough for all to see—
"Break through."
Fshraaaak!
A torrent of red light tore straight through the center of the Krepfeld army.
The allied command, Lucian included, stood there with their mouths hanging open in disbelief.
No matter how powerful a cavalry charge might be, it was bound to lose momentum once it met resistance.
Yet the Red Wing Knights split the enemy ranks to left and right as if tearing through sheets of paper.
It was not merely powerful—it was a feat that clearly defied the laws of physics.
"Magic…!"
It was unmistakably magic engraved into their armor and weapons, not spells being cast.
An ancient legacy said to allow even an ordinary iron sword to display power surpassing that of adamantium arms.
He had heard many stories, but seeing an entire knightly order equipped with such relics was beyond imagination.
I'm starting to understand why the Imperial House regards mages as such a danger.
Because they knew the true might of magic, they feared it all the more.
Nor was the Red Wing Knights' strength limited to raw penetration alone—they wheeled about in an instant and launched a second charge.
Once again, they tore through the Krepfeld cavalry head-on, splitting the army apart yet again.
"T-This… this is impossible…!"
Eric could barely choke out a scream, his voice breaking.
If infantry had been trampled like this, it would have been horrifying but understandable.
But this was a force composed of cavalry—even if not all were knights.
And yet they were being slaughtered as though they were nothing more than foot soldiers beneath hooves.
"Y-Your Majesty! You must withdraw! Please, withdraw at once!"
"This can't be happening… this can't be… How can my elite be destroyed so effortlessly…!"
"Forgive the disrespect! Escort His Majesty! We must get him out of here!"
Eric's close aides hurriedly escorted him away from the battlefield.
The Red Wing Knights did not pursue the utterly shattered Krepfeld army and instead brought their charge to a halt.
Moments later, the shimmering haze completely dissipated and scattered into the air.
So the effects of that magic don't last long?
Watching the knights after the radiance faded, Lucian's eyes gleamed.
If magic of that magnitude could be sustained indefinitely, there would be no one left who could oppose it.
After driving off the Krepfeld forces, the Red Wing Knights soon approached the allied army.
The figure whose face was hidden behind a helmet stopped before the First Prince.
Then, without dismounting, he removed only his helmet and looked down at them.
"I'm glad to see you're all safe."
At the face revealed from within the helmet, the lords' faces drained of color.
A moment later, Marquis Bernhardt was the first to regain his senses. Dropping to one knee, he cried out:
"I pay my respects to His Imperial Majesty, master of the Empire and the true heir of the Great Dragon!"
What? The Emperor?
The young lords who had never seen the Emperor's face, as well as the heirs who had come as representatives, were horrified.
Lucian was among them.
Across both his past and present lives, he had never once laid eyes on the Emperor.
"Y-Your Imperial Majesty, we pay our respects!"
Following the marquis's lead, the imperial nobles dropped to their knees in a rush.
Lucian, too, swiftly knelt and lowered his head.
Moments later, the Emperor dismounted and spoke calmly to the nobles.
"We are still in the midst of war—why are you so bound by formalities that you neglect your vigilance? Courtesies can wait until after we cross the border. All of you, rise."
At the quiet yet commanding voice, the nobles slowly stood.
After briefly surveying his surroundings, the Emperor approached the First Prince, Claude.
Standing before him, Claude hesitantly opened his mouth.
"F-Father… Your Majesty, well, this war—"
"That will do. I have a general understanding of what happened."
"H-How did you know? We only sent the messenger two days ago—"
"There are ways to know. For now, let us celebrate that you are safe."
With a voice both bitter and gentle, the Emperor placed a hand on Claude's shoulder.
Unable to meet his gaze, Claude bowed his head deeply.
After patting his shoulder a few times, the Emperor turned his eyes toward Cedric.
"Cedric, you too have worked hard supporting your brother. I heard you rode across the front lines—are you injured?"
"Thanks to the protection of the Eight Gods and the Great Dragon, I am unharmed."
"That is a relief."
The exchange itself was little different from before, but the warmth carried in the voice was unmistakably different.
Where his tone toward Claude had been full of affection, toward Cedric there was only a measure of concern.
After checking on both sons, the Emperor turned and headed toward the marquis.
"Marquis Bernhardt."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Swift and decisive. It was a good course of action."
"Your Majesty, that was—"
"The war will continue. Even if no battles are fought, it is not over unless someone acknowledges defeat."
And so, the costs of this war will continue to fall upon you.
Unless you wish to shoulder the full blame for this defeat alone.
Reading the unspoken implication, the marquis lowered his head while concealing his bitter expression.
"You are correct, Your Majesty. As long as the war continues, House Logran will spare no support."
"A good answer. I will be counting on you going forward."
After replying coolly, the Emperor resumed walking.
As expected, the next place he stopped was before Lucian.
Lucian slightly lowered his head and waited for the Emperor's next words.
A rebuke or praise—which will it be?
Either was possible.
Lucian was preparing his response depending on what the Emperor would say—
"Truly, you have my gratitude. As the Emperor of the Empire, and as the father of a child, I thank you."
"…!"
At the Emperor's sudden act of bowing his head in thanks, everyone widened their eyes in shock.
Lucian watched the back of the Emperor's head with a complicated expression.
He had thought he might receive praise for a job well done—but he had never imagined the Emperor would bow his head.
"Your Majesty, this is far too much for me to accept. Please raise your head."
"You saved my son—and beyond that, you saved the future of the Empire. You are more than worthy of my gratitude."
"I merely did what was expected of me as a subject."
"No. There is no such thing as 'expected.' It is the proper order between ruler and subject that the ruler gives trust and the subject repays it with loyalty. Yet even after Claude withdrew his trust first, you willingly threw yourself into danger. For that alone, I cannot be grateful enough."
The Emperor continued to lavish praise upon Lucian, yet the expression of the man himself gradually stiffened.
Apart from the gratitude, there was a clear intent in his words—an indication that he knew exactly what had transpired on the battlefield.
So he's not even trying to hide it. This is also meant as a warning to the other nobles.
It was a hint that even events unfolding beyond his immediate presence were all within his grasp.
That aside, however, the gratitude he directed at Lucian carried unmistakable sincerity.
"If the dignity of the Empire did not rest upon my shoulders, I would gladly kneel before you. That I can only bow my head instead leaves me with nothing but regret. I ask for your understanding."
"Understanding? Your words alone are already more than enough—far more than I deserve. Please, raise your head. Any more than this becomes a burden to me."
"If it burdens you, then it can't be helped. It would be a fine mess indeed if an attempt at gratitude were repaid with resentment."
As if to ease the stiff atmosphere, the Emperor offered a gentle joke and straightened up.
Faced with the Emperor's polished conversational skill, Lucian found his thoughts growing increasingly complex.
The Empire's last sovereign—Karl bin Bey Astria…
Though he had never seen him in person, Lucian had heard countless stories about the Emperor throughout his previous life.
Yet opinions about him varied so widely that it was difficult to define him with a single judgment.
Some called him a tyrant whose failures sowed the seeds of the Empire's collapse.
Others said he lacked ability but possessed an admirable character.
And still others claimed he had been a wise ruler, simply born into an unfortunate era, doomed to be remembered as a failed one.
One thing was certain: when it came to the matter of succession, he had misjudged it again and again.
That was why I'd secretly thought of him as a foolish ruler myself… but seeing him in person, he's nothing like that.
The Emperor Lucian had seen with his own eyes was more than worthy of sitting upon the throne.
From afar, he had grasped the situation on the battlefield in meticulous detail, then personally ridden out to restore the imperial authority that First Prince Claude had allowed to fall into the dust.
By subtly signaling this to the other nobles, he ensured they would no longer take the Imperial House lightly—and by offering lavish gratitude, he showed proper recompense for loyalty and sacrifice.
People will surely talk about the Emperor moving so lightly and personally, but even taking that into account, he's a capable ruler. If this were an age of peace rather than chaos, I might even think it worth pledging my loyalty to him.
And yet—why had a ruler like this handled the issue of succession so disastrously?
Instead of answering Lucian's unspoken question, the Emperor smiled and made a different proposal.
"If you don't mind, I would like to speak with you about various matters. Would you care to join me?"
"If it is Your Majesty's wish, I would be honored to do so."
Lucian accepted the Emperor's offer without hesitation.
Setting aside the interests of his house, this was a chance for Lucian himself to build a personal connection with the Emperor—there was no reason to refuse.
The allied army, while calming their shaken nerves at the Emperor's presence, prepared for withdrawal with far more composure than before.
A short while later, Lucian mounted his horse and rode at the head of the column alongside the Emperor, the two conversing as they went.
"I've heard much about your reputation. For someone only sixteen, the rumors surrounding you are anything but ordinary."
"They are nothing more than exaggerated tales."
"You say my gratitude was excessive, yet your modesty is just as remarkable. From what I can see, the rumors have already been more than proven."
The Emperor laughed, continuing to show open favor toward Lucian.
Perhaps because the first impression had been so good, he seemed pleased no matter what Lucian said.
As they drew closer to the Horsen River and the attention on the two of them lessened, the Emperor lowered his voice and whispered:
"Let me ask you one thing—do you have any interest in the position of clan head?"
"Your Majesty, I apologize, but matters of my family are—"
Lucian trailed off with an awkward expression.
No matter how powerful the Emperor might be, intervening in the affairs of House Valdeck would be crossing a line.
At Lucian's words, the Emperor hastily waved both hands, signaling that wasn't what he meant.
"My apologies. I misspoke. I have no intention of interfering in the succession of a grand ducal house. When I spoke of a 'clan head,' I meant it in a different sense."
"A different sense?"
"Have you no interest in becoming a Margrave instead of a Grand Duke? For someone like you, founding a new house and making a name for yourself wouldn't be such a bad thing."
At the Emperor's unexpected and radical proposal, Lucian's eyes widened.
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