-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: How the Prince Makes Friends
-----------------------------------------------------------------
'Lianus.'
My older brother spoke to me for the first time in ages.
"Yes!"
I replied eagerly, thrilled. After all, he was the only one who ever talked to me.
"They say the young nobles your age, who train in swordsmanship at the Tesaurus Duke's Mansion, are being invited for a gathering to build camaraderie."
"At the duke's mansion?"
"That's right. Won't you come?"
"But Older Brother, I..."
I hesitated. After all, I was a child cursed by mana.
"You're learning the sword just like them. No one will mind that."
"D-Do you think it'd be okay for me to join?"
Whenever my older brother kindly spoke to me like this, something bad always happened.
I knew it. I'd fallen for it every time. And yet, I couldn't help hoping this time might be different...
I was afraid of missing an opportunity that might never come again.
"If you can't join, who could? No one trains as hard as you do."
"Then I'll go! When is it?"
"Tomorrow, by four o'clock. I have to discuss something with my master first, so I'll head there ahead of you."
"Yes! See you then!"
This time, maybe I could make a real friend and talk with them.
Even if I could never wield aura in my lifetime, surely I could chat about swordsmanship. I'd trained hard, and I'd tried my best to seem as composed as my older brother.
But I should have been suspicious from the start—holding the gathering at such an awkward hour.
"Look, the Swamp Prince really came. But he's quite late."
"His eyes are really different colors."
"I heard he got the mana curse because his blood got mixed."
"Even if he's young and clueless, I didn't think he'd be this oblivious..."
"He's really small, too. Is he the same age as the 1st Prince?"
The Tesaurus Duke's Mansion—Queen Helia's family home and the maternal relatives of 1st Prince Lawrence de Harpen.
A den of vipers with not a single soul to welcome a second prince without any backing.
"Why is he even learning the sword? I heard he can't wield aura his whole life, and he can't even sense mana itself."
"I heard His Majesty insists on giving all the princes equal education, no discrimination in their studies."
"Doesn't that only work if they're on a similar level? His Majesty goes too far."
What was "too far"? Was it too much that he hadn't excluded me—someone who could never wield aura no matter how hard I tried—from training? Was it too much to let someone as lowly skilled as me attend classes with my older brother?
The whispers, the laughter like rustling wind, the young noble heirs who dared steal glances at a prince right in front of them without so much as a greeting.
I should have gotten angry. I should have punished them for insulting a prince to his face.
But I couldn't.
Among them stood someone with the same crimson eyes as the queen and the duke, smiling roundly. My lips wouldn't move.
It felt like they were saying, You fool, falling for it again.
In the end, I fell for it again—and ran away again.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
"The royal carriage is passing through!"
A remote little village with scant traffic.
The sky, thick with dreary storm clouds, scattered something between snow and rain that stung like icy whips against frozen cheeks.
The sleet had only begun falling minutes ago, yet it felt so heartbreaking.
Neither snow nor rain, it quickly soaked the ground and seeped into the collars of the villagers prostrated on the earth.
A mere traveler passing through the village had no idea what was happening and just tilted his head at the scattered folks lying flat along the road.
"What's going on? Why are you all out in this freezing weather?"
The old man who was asked hurriedly pulled the traveler down to prostrate as well.
"The royal carriage is passing! Get down, quick."
"Can't you just bow your head in respect?"
The old man pressed the traveler's nape and began explaining in a low murmur.
The traveler felt deeply annoyed as his clothes grew damp, but the old man's grave expression made him listen attentively for now.
"Not long ago, some count's young master passed through the next village over and beat a child to death. What a nasty temper... It was a day with snow piled up to the ankles, but in that weather, he insisted on driving his carriage through. Then, from the window, his eyes met a child's watching him. And get this—the brat dared look down at him from higher up, so he dragged the kid out and whipped him right there on the spot. The child was covered head to toe in blood and froze to death in the snow!"
Unaware his voice was rising, the old man ranted on. The traveler, listening intently, grew stiff-faced.
"Heavens, and no one stopped him from beating the child to death?"
"Who could step up in that situation? You'd get beaten yourself. The parents begged and wailed for mercy, but they got whipped too. They nearly died but barely survived. But with their child dying right before their eyes like that, is living really living?"
"They didn't file a petition?"
"You think those nobles bat an eye over one commoner's kid? If nobles act like that, how much worse is the royal family? So you flatten yourself good and proper."
Having heard the old man's full tale, the traveler shuddered and meekly smashed his forehead into the dirt.
He vowed that once the carriage passed, he'd grab a room at the inn, soak in a hot bath, and not step out until the weather cleared.
Just then came the sound of someone sniffling, followed by a woman's piteous voice.
"Could you hide my child for me? If his clothes get wet, there's nothing to change into."
It was a wandering mother and child. Beside the woman, a grubby kid sniffled, staring up at his mother.
The village head stepped forward.
"The carriage is moving too fast! I'll shelter you at my house tonight, so get down quick. You don't want to see a child beaten to death!"
The woman's face went deathly pale as she desperately pressed her child's head down.
A brief silence, broken only by the child's sniffles, then the distant thunder of hooves began approaching.
The sound grew closer at an alarming speed, as if some great disaster had struck.
The traveler thought the Harpen Kingdom was truly rotten while praying the carriage would pass quickly.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
"Hic, guh, hngh..."
From between dark green locks shaking with the rattling carriage, muffled sounds—half laugh, half sob—squeezed out relentlessly.
Whether from the flower-thaw chill or overwhelming emotion, the small, shivering body huddled tight, looking even tinier. Tears streamed from reddened eyes, dripping between fingers onto knees, stealing away body heat—but the child's hands could do nothing, too busy stifling sobs.
The knight driving the horses ached in his chest, unable to do anything for his young master's cries from inside. The untimely sleet grated on him.
How long had he cried? Wanting to cool his swollen eyelids, the child opened the carriage window.
Cold wind and sleet rushed in. That unwelcomed neither-snow-nor-rain slapped his frozen cheek, just like him.
"Your Highness! You'll catch a cold. Close the window!"
"Just a bit longer. How much farther?"
"A couple more hours, at least. We're entering the village soon—please get back inside."
At "village," the child leaned out further to peer at the entrance. With his unusually sharp eyesight, he saw far despite the sleet.
In his view, villagers scurried then flattened themselves on the ground. Baffled by the bizarre sight, he shouted to the knight on the driver's seat.
"Sir Evan! Why are the villagers doing that?"
"It's the royal carriage—they're showing respect! It's cold—get back in!"
"What? Who shows respect by groveling on the ground in this weather? Tell them to go inside!"
"If I get down to relay that, they'll panic even more. Better to just pass through quickly."
"Then hurry!"
"...Pardon?"
"Get us out of the village—fast! Quick, quick! It's sleeting!"
Flustered by his master's urging, Evan sped up the carriage as ordered.
He heard mutters like If I'd known it'd be like this, I wouldn't have come, but Evan couldn't retort, See, what did I tell you? I said not to go.
He couldn't rub salt in the wound of this fragile kitten.
The kitten who'd been sobbing quietly moments ago now flung open the driver's window as if he'd never cried, smacking Evan's back playfully.
Relieved the child had perked up, Evan feigned offense and yelled,
"Your Highness, hitting me won't make the horses go faster!"
"Faster, faster!"
"We're already pushing it! The ground's icing over—we could have a real accident!"
"The road's wide open—what could go wrong? Just get through the village quick!"
Forgetting he'd cried, the child stomped his feet inside the carriage.
Why sleet now of all times! If I'd known, I'd have left later. I should have held out a bit longer so the villagers could go home.
Then a memory flashed: crimson eyes drawing a half-moon smile.
No, I couldn't have held out longer.
It's all my fault for being so stupid, he thought, swallowing back rising tears and peeking outside.
Amid the blurring scenery, he glimpsed a child—cheeks and hands frozen red—whose eyes met his.
Why are you out in this weather, so foolishly! Why not go inside smartly!
Unable to scold the villagers, the prince vented at his knight instead.
"How much farther? Faster!"
"How much faster do you want?! At this rate, we'll really— Aagh!"
Neighhh—
The horses screamed. Something crunched with a thud.
The carriage lurched violently.
The knight poured all his effort into calming the horses. It nearly overturned.
"What! What happened!"
"A child darted out—got hit by the horses!"
"What? Sir Evan, stop! Stop!"
Already slowing, the carriage—still at breakneck speed—took a long stretch before halting.
As it stopped, the door flew open, and a dark green head popped out.
Heads lifted instinctively in surprise met a pair of eyes gleaming different hues.
Realizing they'd locked eyes with royalty, the villagers gasped and prostrated again.
Seeing this, the child flared up and bellowed,
"What! Drop money on the ground? I can't stand the sight—everyone inside!"
He leaped from the carriage, ignoring the splashed water soaking his shoes and pant legs, and dashed back along the path.
It's all my fault. I yelled at Sir Evan, so he didn't see the child.
He's surely dead. No one survives getting hit by a carriage whipping by so fast the world blurs.
His guard knight shouted something from behind, but his own ragged breaths drowned it out. His legs felt frozen stiff from the cold.
Sleet dampened his hair and clothes bit by bit; each breath puffed white mist that scattered.
How far had he run? There, by the roadside the carriage had passed—a pooling red puddle. And atop it, something caught his eye.
A child.