The acrid smell of blood lingered in the air, a nauseating stench that no amount of time seemed to make tolerable.
Now, it had become an everyday part of life, sharp and piercing against my nostrils.
Turning my head, I saw a man drenched in blood trying to flee. The moment our eyes met, he sank to his knees.
“S-Spare me,” he stammered.
Before he could finish his plea, I sliced through his neck with my sword.
His voice failed him as his throat was cut, only the gurgling sound of his final breaths escaping him. It wasn’t a pretty sight, but nothing about it stirred any discomfort or revulsion within me.
Frankly, after considering the amount of blood that had stained my hands so far, the shock of such scenes had long passed.
His eyes rolled back as he collapsed, joining a group of about ten others who lay dead, their necks severed. Each of them bore repulsive tattoos etched into their necks.
There was no need to elaborate. These were the Emperor’s Eyes, created to replace the nobles who had perished during the last auction.
‘So, I was right. Not even the nobility is exempt.’
While one of the reasons for attending the Hunting Festival was to procure the Scale artifact, the primary objective was this: to confirm which individuals had been replaced by the Emperor’s Eyes and extract information from their markings.
“Spare us, why are you doing this?” stuttered a male noble, trembling as he clutched his ceremonial sword in a shaking hand. He was a viscount from the Griph family, if I remembered correctly.
As I took a step closer, he hastily retreated two steps.
Then, stumbling over a rock, he fell backward.
‘Disgusting,’ I thought, my disdain for these artificial humans growing.
The Emperor’s Eyes have no awareness of their own identities. Their bodies, memories, personalities—even their thoughts—are mere imitations of those they replaced. They don’t realize they’ve already been substituted. Moreover, the markings on their necks can only be seen by those with magical aptitude akin to an Archmage or higher, ensuring their ignorance.
These synthetic humans are spies hidden in plain sight, thus earning the ominous title of the Emperor’s Eyes.
“S-Spare me!” cried another, but I cut him off with my sword before he could finish. The unpleasant gurgling sounds of his final moments ended as he slumped to the ground.
I pulled my blade clean and tossed it carelessly into a subspace pocket. My clothes were soaked in blood, but it didn’t matter—I could easily remove it with magic. Even if it were monster blood, who would be any the wiser if the bodies were properly disposed of?
“Damn you, what have you done?” A familiar voice called out.
I turned my head to see a golden-haired man with piercing golden eyes glaring at me. It was Crown Prince Leo von Schopenhaim.
Somehow, despite the warning signals I had set with a landslide far before his arrival, he had managed to intrude this deeply into the area.
Was he here because of Adelle? To protect Estelle from her? How foolish—stepping into the territory of a duke of the empire for such a trivial reason.
‘No bodyguards?’
Was he bold, or merely stupid?
To think that because he had achieved the rank of Swordmaster, even at the very bottom, he thought he could face me alone.
Yes, that sort of naivety explained why he was portrayed as nothing more than a pawn in the original story.
“Exactly what it looks like,” I replied coolly to his accusation.
The Crown Prince clenched his teeth, furious, as he glared at me. A golden aura began to radiate around him. Noble blood, perhaps? Regardless, the amount of Ki from a Swordmaster was substantial.
Still, it merely confirmed what I already knew: a Swordmaster whose mastery relied solely on his lineage would never reach the highest level. His Ki was far too weak.
“I’ll kill you!” he yelled, losing all rational thought, and charged toward me.
I chuckled. After all, the Emperor’s Eyes, no matter how they die, can always come back to life in principle. Though they are usually disposed of once identified, anyone aware of that wouldn’t have reacted with such irrational rage.
Rather ironic, isn’t it? That an unworthy princess knows more about the imperial family than he does.
With a flick of my finger, a shining white magic circle appeared before me like a shield.
“Clang!”
The metallic ring echoed through the air as the Crown Prince’s golden Ki was met and blocked by the magic circle. His attack was thwarted with ease.
His eyes widened slightly in shock. Had he truly believed such a reckless charge would be met with nothing but my open arms? His lack of fighting experience, beyond that of a Swordmaster’s Ki and raw power, was painfully clear.
“Convergent Array!”
Multiple magic circles formed around me. The Crown Prince’s gaze trembled even more, yet he took no decisive steps back to reassess the situation. His judgment and reaction time were severely lacking.
Of course, he was nothing more than a reckless fool.
Before meeting Estelle, this was the man who had spent his days indulging in wine and women. An unworthy Swordmaster given too much power and too little intelligence—truly a despicable character.
His incompetence and arrogant strength brought scorn upon him in the original work, where he was widely disliked by readers. The comments on the story made it clear he was one of the most hated characters, second only to the author.
“Break!”
White projectiles shot out from the magic circles.
Attempting to block them with his Ki, he swung wildly, yet the projectiles effortlessly pierced through his defense. His Ki was plentiful but of poor quality, incapable of holding back even a single shot.
“Ugh!”
The impact crumpled his armor, and he was sent flying back into a snow-laden tree. As he struggled to catch his breath, the crown prince lay there, spitting blood into the snow-covered ground.
It felt oddly satisfying, knowing the extent to which I’d verbally abused him in reviews of the original work.
“Y-You…”
“The Golden Lion Knights.”
At the sound of my words, the Crown Prince faltered.
I recalled the first banquet after Adelle and I first met. The attack that followed was easily identifiable as the work of those skilled in the royal swordplay style.
The Golden Lion Knights, an elite squadron of the royal family, were the ultimate weapon available only to the Emperor and his heir. What would happen if word spread that they had attacked a duke and his betrothed?
The outcome was obvious, wasn’t it?
Leo’s pale expression betrayed his understanding. His actions against the nobility were practically acts of rebellion. It would be a miracle if no uprising occurred as a result.
“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
“H-How…?”
“The Emperor will surely grieve when he learns of this.”
Of course, the Emperor may very well laugh at his own folly.
“What do you want?”
He was at least sensible enough to understand implications, even if his awareness had thus far been lacking.
After all, this was the Crown Prince of the Arias Empire. It wasn’t in his nature to bow to anyone, not even under current circumstances.
“Whump!”
“Ugh!”
I kicked his armor, sending him once again into the tree with a cry of pain.
Unfamiliar with my sudden action, his eyes trembled.
“You’re not comprehending the situation.”
I was the ‘A’ in this equation.
He was the ‘B.’
“Your life is in my hands now.”
Would the Emperor shield the Crown Prince from his reckless behavior? Doubtful. After all, the same man who didn’t hesitate to cut down his own brother wouldn’t spare his son for sentimentality. To him, children were merely tools for governing.
And Leo, as the Crown Prince, should understand this more than anyone.
“…What do you want?”
His defiance was unwavering, though it was likely the best he could do. Prolonging this confrontation would be meaningless.
“The Emperor’s Sword, Luke von Schopenhaim.”
“H-H… How do you know that?”
The way he reacted to the title ‘Emperor’s Sword’ confirmed his knowledge of the royal matters.
Of course, considering Leo only became Crown Prince after Luke von Schopenhaim’s supposed death, it wasn’t surprising. The heir to the throne had, at one time, been overshadowed by the second son, even though Luke wasn’t of the main bloodline.
“Where is that man’s mother, Luca von Asrig?”
The question hung heavy in the air.
