IYTTEPAAK Chapter 34

The training grounds, located at the northern edge of the imperial palace, were a space set aside for the Emperor's own Imperial Guard.

Ordinarily they ran systematic training on a fixed schedule, but princesses' personal knights were given no such thing.

Sparring required a tangled approval process, all in the name of preventing non-combat losses. Besides, the Imperial Guard and the war captives weren't the sort of men who could cross swords wholesomely together.

To begin with, among the blue uniforms that seemed to symbolize noble blood, the black uniforms—funeral shrouds, in essence—were shunned outright.

Regen was in the middle of a punishing physical conditioning regimen when he reached for his leather water skin. His throat worked up and down a few times, and the skin was empty in no time.

He was heading around the back of the rest building toward the water station when a shape burst from the shadows and ambushed him.

Regen stayed composed.

So it's finally come, has it.

He'd expected someone, sooner or later, to pick a fight—whether out of contempt for a former prisoner of war, or jealousy over his position as Sasha's knight.

He moved to twist the wrist reaching for his collar clean out of its socket.

But the instant he saw the face of the man bearing down on him, his motion stopped dead.

"Regenhart."

"……Killian."

The man pinning him to the wall by the collar snarled like a wild animal.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"……."

"I asked you what you think you're doing!"

Facing him, dressed in the same black uniform, was his fellow bound knight—Killian Ihplit.

The second son of House Ihplit, which served the royal house of Rohengrin. Regen's cousin.

And also the younger brother of his friend.

Regen showed not the slightest disturbance at having his collar seized in this act of insubordination.

Killian had always had a short temper and no tolerance for injustice.

From a loyal subject's standpoint, a prince kept alive as a captive of the imperial court, clinging to his existence—that would look like plenty enough injustice.

In truth, the one who most wanted to grab his own collar was Regen himself.

Killian ground his teeth, seemingly displeased that Regen's face, taking in the anger without resistance, only looked paler for it.

"Regenhart. You have no right to be doing this here."

"……."

"You should have run, fought to the death rather than be taken! Do you think my brother died in your place so you could shamefully warm some princess's bed?!"

"……What?"

Something other than the insult made Regen react. He seized, in turn, the hand that had been gripping his collar.

Killian flinched at the grip, his face twisting. He tried to let go and step back, but this time Regen wouldn't allow it.

"What did Elich do?"

"You're asking like you don't know?"

"Answer me. Now, Killian!"

At the frantic demand, Killian's face crumpled into something wretched.

"He died playing you."

"……."

"He got you out and stood on the execution platform in your place. Everyone who knew your face well enough—friend or enemy—was already dead by then anyway!"

"……."

Only then did a fragment of memory, buried and pressed down for so long, surface in Regen's mind.

A friend, hair dyed black, pulling the condemned man's sackcloth hood over his own face in Regen's stead.

The last thing he'd said, looking back at him—

'I suppose this counts as one last hit against that traitor bastard. Make sure you live, Regen.'

Disgust surged up in him at himself, for having turned away from the memory.

"After all that, after he made sure you'd live—why are you doing this? You should be out there rebuilding the Rohengrin throne, or assassinating the Mad Emperor. I put my hope in you. You were the only hope left! Kneeling and fawning over the Mad Emperor's daughter—does that sit easy with you? Does it suit you?"

"……."

The insult didn't even reach Regen's ears now.

The grip on Killian's hand went slack. Regen's arm dropped, like a puppet with its string cut.

"That I was able to survive at all……"

Killian's expression, watching him stare into nothing, broke apart too.

The anger had been nothing but a thin veil. He'd only been snarling because he couldn't cry.

Footsteps sounded then. A group of knights was approaching.

It would do neither of them any good to be caught meeting privately, two war-captive bound knights together.

Before he left, Killian spat out one last accusation.

"Pay for my brother's life, Regenhart."

"……."

Left alone, Regen stood motionless in the deep shade. He wanted nothing more than to dig a hole in the dirt and lie down in it.

Passing guardsmen eyed him strangely and murmured to each other, and he didn't even register it.

It was a long while before his feet moved, drawn by something like instinct.

He had no memory at all of how he'd made his way back to his own quarters, adjoining the Silver Bird chamber. He simply stood there, blank, unaware of time passing.

A question he'd nearly forgotten, living beside Sasha, surfaced in him again.

'Was there any value in staying alive?'

Whether for a great cause or for revenge, whatever it was, he would need to accomplish something to prove the worth of this shameful life he still carried—but right now, he felt utterly powerless.

He could actually do nothing. Nothing at all.

With his mana core destroyed, he couldn't even attempt to assassinate the Mad Emperor while living inside the very palace. The cost of attempting something certain to fail wouldn't fall on him alone—the princess would have to pay it with him. His branded mind wouldn't allow it.

Nor could he, as the last surviving prince, move Rohengrin's remaining forces. He was a prisoner in the palace. Contact was next to impossible. And by now Rohengrin was surely in some cunning traitor's grip.

If Regen moved under his princely name, discovery by the traitor was certain. In this position, Regen wouldn't become the rallying point for Rohengrin's restoration—he would only become bait, gathering the last loyal subjects together so they could all be wiped out at once.

He might even be discovered by the Mad Emperor before the traitor found him. The outcome, in that case, would unquestionably be the worst imaginable.

This was an emperor who had killed five hostages from Sasha's mother's homeland just to force a single meal down her throat. There was no telling how many of his own countrymen he would kill—or how—to torture Regenhart Lohengrin.

Whatever he did, it wouldn't end with just his own life. It wasn't only that there was nothing left he could do. Doing nothing had become the best he had to offer.

Truly. Dead already. Powerless.

So then—why keep living, even now? Was he just hiding behind the princess's promise—a chance, she'd said—to settle into this?

Sunk in self-loathing, he surfaced now and then, and each time, the view outside the window had changed. The sunset burned red, then the sky dimmed to dusk, then darkness fell in earnest.

It was already the middle of the night. He'd realized he'd missed his mana-core treatment when a knock sounded.

"A gift from Her Highness."

"……."

"I'll take my leave, then."

What Hamel had left behind was liquor. The moment he pulled the stopper, a fierce scent came rushing up, the kind that seemed ready to churn his insides.

How much did the princess know? Did she know about the conversation with Killian? Had his identity been discovered?

He didn't know. He didn't want to think about it.

Regen accepted Sasha's gift. The liquor burned scorching down his throat and settled in his stomach, kneading his brain with its poison.

Only then did the thoughts tormenting him begin, at last, to go numb.

Sunlight seeped in through the gap in his eyelids. A clear birdsong whispered morning at his ear. But it wasn't that bird that woke Regen.

"Sir Regen."

"……."

"Wake up, Sir Regen."

The lovely voice rang in his ear. Regen lifted his half-open eyes and looked ahead.

He seemed to have fallen asleep against the wall, sitting on the floor. To meet his eye level, the person before him had willingly lowered herself to match.

Thanks to that, even seated on the floor, Regen could see the beautiful face straight on.

"Sasha."

"Yes."

Now that he thought of it, he'd fallen asleep dead drunk and dreamed. The princess had looked at him just like this, with worried eyes, and comforted him.

Deciding this must simply be an extension of the dream, Regen reached his right hand toward her.

He cupped her porcelain-smooth cheek in his palm as if cradling it. Her plump lips parted slightly, drawing his gaze. Tempting, as always.

Regen felt the urge to touch. If he pressed gently on her lower lip, just enough to reveal the neat, white edge of her bottom teeth beneath it——

Just as his thumb was about to reach her lips, a warm palm suddenly covered both his eyes.

"I didn't come here to treat your core."

"……."

"You need to sober up first. Drink."

A potion bottle was pressed to his lips, and he drank. Before long, his fogged mind began to clear. His golden eyes widened.

"Sasha?"

"Are you awake now?"

"It wasn't a dream?"

"Would you like another cup?"

"No."

Regen quickly circulated mana through his body, burning off the last of the drunkenness in an instant.

He scrubbed his face dry with his hands, stood, and glanced at the mirror. Fortunately, his appearance hadn't been too badly disheveled despite his stupor.

Sasha wasn't looking at him—her gaze was turned elsewhere. She said nothing further on the matter.

He was grateful for it, though he thought he might have been even more grateful if she'd simply sent a lady-in-waiting to wake him, rather than coming to his room herself.

"There's somewhere we're going together."

"I'll change into my uniform."

"Not your uniform. This."

What she held out looked like something a young gentleman of the wealthy merchant class might wear. Now that he looked, Sasha herself was dressed for riding—a different air about her entirely.

Sasha said,

"We're leaving the palace, the two of us."

They left the palace by carriage, then switched to horseback once they reached the city streets of the capital.

Along the way, she never once forgot to watch carefully for any sign of a tail.

Regen was thoroughly surprised by Sasha's horsemanship. It was expert-level riding.

"I learned in secret, from outside sources, in case I ever needed to flee. Whether or not you can ride makes a tremendous difference in mobility."

Even now, she spoke of grave things calmly, flatly, same as ever.

They rode out to the outskirts of the capital. Galloping freely along the fields on horseback seemed to loosen something that had been sitting tight in his chest.

That said, the outing wasn't meant as some diversion for Regen's mood. Sasha clearly had a destination in mind.

"Here it is."

What they arrived at was a modest convent on the outskirts. In the courtyard, nuns were hard at work at their various chores—cleaning, laundry, and the like.

The eldest of them recognized Sasha's face at once and came toward her.

"It's been some time, Your Highness."

"Don't use that title, Mother Superior."

"Yes, my lady."

The woman addressed as Mother Superior bowed her head, folding her hands respectfully, showing every courtesy.

"With the gold you sent last time, we brought in a few more stoves, and bought seed and seedlings. Thanks to you, my lady, I believe we needn't worry about going hungry, or shivering through the cold."

"That's thanks to the Mother Superior's own good judgment in running this place too. There's no small number of people to look after here, and you've managed it."

"You flatter me."

The Mother Superior's gaze flicked briefly to Regen.

"So this is the knight."

"He is."

"Truly, it's fate."

"……."

Sasha pressed her lips together, and the Mother Superior closed her eyes and offered a brief prayer of blessing.