Chapter 181. I Am the Prince of This Country

2024.03.29.

A fleeting glint of excitement flickered in Clade’s eyes.

He roughly wiped the blood from his sword on nearby bushes and swept back his damp blond hair.

His eyes, once wavering with unease, hardened after hearing the Emperor’s voice.

He gestured for Lancelot, one of the Rev brothers watching him, to come closer. Then, he placed something in his hand.

“I’ll handle Igor. You and your brothers hold off the 1st Knight Division down below as long as you can until more support arrives from the east.”

“What’s this?”

As Clade, having given swift orders, moved to climb the canyon’s peak without hesitation, Lancelot grabbed him and asked.

“It’s not a will or something, is it?”

At Lancelot’s anxious tone, Clade gave a faint smile.

“Something like that. You’ll understand when you see it.”

“Hey!”

“I’m counting on you, Lancelot.”

“Quit joking.”

Eddie, who had been intently watching Clade’s serious face, stepped between Lancelot and Clade.

Despite limping slightly from an injury sustained during the last beast subjugation, his aura was fierce.

“You think we’re letting you go alone?”

Faced with Eddie’s fierce determination, Clade stared into his eyes for a moment before nodding reluctantly, as if conceding.

The elite knights following Clade’s group split into two. One group followed Lancelot down the canyon, while the other climbed with Clade.

There wasn’t a shred of hesitation in Clade’s steps as he headed for the peak.

It might look like he was charging up the mountain in a fit of passion, but Lancelot knew this was a path forged by trampling over a decade of time.

Clade must have considered the possibility of a trap. But it didn’t matter.

Ambushes in this rugged canyon had their limits, and Clade was not weak. Those in red cloaks ascended the valley in scattered groups.

Lancelot watched Clade’s back at the forefront for a long while before carefully tucking away what Clade had given him and heading downward.

With their destination in sight, Solen Racha’s mind was filled with the wreckage of the bombshell Eugene Kimfri had left behind.

“Who started the rebellion first? Shall we go over it step by step?”

“Who turned a blind eye to unjust deeds for immediate gain and fattened their own pockets?”

“Why are the heads of this country’s houses, except in the north and east, overwhelmingly younger nobles instead of the old aristocracy?”

“Who cut off the heads of the adults meant to be this country’s backbone, branding them as rebels?”

Solen Racha closed their eyes for a long moment before opening them again.

Maintaining composure was easier said than done.

Before Igor became Grand Duke, it was the Racha ducal family, to which Solen belonged, that ruled the north like kings.

As the principle dictated that the strongest would rule the north, Jurgen Racha, the head who lost to Igor in the contest, stepped down without protest and followed Grand Duke Igor.

There was no hesitation in dispatching northern warriors to the capital and Roxenhardt to suppress the rebels.

Jurgen Racha followed Grand Duke Igor to restore the nation’s discipline and seized the chance for the north, once called barbarians, to become meritorious vassals.

But Igor, now Emperor, did not return the Grand Duke title to Jurgen Racha once it was no longer needed.

Instead, he granted the fertile eastern lands, along with northern territories connected to them, to Count Drietter, who had supported from the east, and named them Grand Duke.

He did not want the northern forces to grow too strong to control.

Jurgen was grateful for the opportunity to advance northern nobles to the capital, but the slight could not be ignored.

As discontent slowly simmered, they learned that the southerners they had trampled were not, in fact, rebels but had been deceived by Igor into fighting a nonexistent rebellion, only to be branded as rebels and crushed by the north.

Yet, they could not undo it.

History belongs to the victors.

For the sake of the northern nobles who had just advanced to the capital and for Solen Racha, now the First Knight Commander, Jurgen suppressed his discontent and showed no hostility toward the newly appointed Grand Duke Drietter.

He turned a blind eye to the south’s suffering and the west’s opportunistic alignment with the victors, hoping only for a better life for the north.

Having witnessed it all, Solen Racha could neither kill Eugene Kimfri, who had loudly proclaimed the truth of a decade ago, nor fully suppress their own anger.

They could not deny their past struggles to survive as a northerner and become the First Knight Commander, nor could they cruelly kill Eugene Kimfri, who had become the heir after their family’s head and successor took their own lives out of guilt.

After all, they had once been comrades who faced life and death together.

“The north follows the strong.”

Among the remaining imperials, the only one the northerners would follow was Emperor Igor.

Bollonico had vanished without developing their own swordsmanship, and the former Crown Prince, though once called a genius, was a child then.

Who in the imperial family could they turn to now, abandoning Igor?

The fact that Igor’s ascent to the throne was cunning and cowardly was a separate matter.

As a northerner to the core, Solen ignored Eugene Kimfri’s voice stirring their mind and the conscience always lapping at their feet, pressing forward to seize control of the entire villa at a terrifying pace.

The First Knight Division, led by Solen Racha, dragged trembling occupants from the villa to the reception room for interrogation.

Among those who knew nothing of the events in the villa or the rebellion in the canyon was an enraged Empress Marilyn.

Seeing women and the elderly being forcibly brought in, her eyes blazed red.

“Solen Racha, how dare you treat my guests like this in my presence as Empress!”

Despite her furious tone, Solen Racha replied without a change in expression.

“Please cooperate. This is an emergency. An assassin infiltrated the villa where His Majesty was staying.”

“What?”

“A rebellion.”

Gasps erupted from the noblewomen around.

“Before His Majesty arrives, we must root out anyone colluding with the former Crown Prince Clade Euphris and apprehend all involved in the rebellion.”

Solen Racha’s cold reply implied that even the Empress was not exempt.

Her words delivered a deep insult to Empress Marilyn.

She was the mother of the nation, meant to be protected alongside the Emperor, not subjected to investigation.

The audacity of this northern knight, acting on the Emperor’s authority solely because they were Jurgen Racha’s son, to meddle with her and her guests was intolerable.

Realizing it stemmed from her being labeled as a remnant of the “rebel” south, she trembled with rage.

The Empress surveyed the First Knight Division, clad in armor and surrounding the reception room like a siege.

Her eyes felt ready to burst with long-accumulated anger, but thinking of Noel, she clenched her teeth and stood firm.

If they provoked Solen Racha, the sword of the imperial family, and the northerners later refused to follow Noel, what then? Solen Racha was Jurgen Racha, and Jurgen Racha was the north!

Trembling, she clenched her fists.

“Bollonico is gone now.”

Her hope now rested solely on Noel.

So gentle and fragile… her son, whom she, as Empress, would protect with all her authority.

Biting her tongue and closing her eyes tightly to endure this humiliation for Noel’s future, Marilyn’s eyes snapped open when the back door of the reception room was flung wide.

“What is going on here?”

A low, grave voice.

It belonged to none other than Noel.

Through the wide-open doors, a wave of southern knights, familiar to the Empress’s eyes, flooded in.

Empress Marilyn’s eyes widened in disbelief.

Her son, who had led Federico and the southerners toward the canyon, broke through the northerners’ encirclement to stand protectively before her and those in the reception room.

Despite Noel’s sudden appearance, Solen Racha replied calmly.

“The former Crown Prince Clade Euphris attacked the villa this morning. We will personally investigate and interrogate for witnesses or collaborators. Please cooperate, Your Highness…”

“Solen Racha.”

The Noel who always stood silently behind Bollonico or the Empress was not here now.

“Have you forgotten who I am?”

“!”

Noel drew the sword at his side and aimed it at them.

His resolute face radiated a will to not forgive anyone who touched a single hair of those behind him.

“I am the prince of this country. Is there anyone more suited to handle this than me? If you dare touch a single hair of Her Majesty the Empress or anyone here, you will be deemed a traitor aiding the former Crown Prince, and neither I nor those here will forgive you.”

Tasha, standing by the Empress, covered her mouth with both hands.

Her trembling fingertips framed golden eyes that shimmered as they gazed at the back of Noel’s head, standing tall and issuing threats.

Yuan had once told her.

When Noel is truly angry, he doesn’t stutter.

“In the absence of His Majesty and my brother, have you forgotten that Her Majesty the Empress and I are your masters who give you orders?”

His usually gentle voice now rang firmly through the reception room.

“If you are the sword of the imperial family, you will follow my orders. If you are a traitor, draw your sword and face me.”

The southern knights formed a protective circle around the noblewomen and elderly, facing off against the First Knight Division.

Federico and the knights, overwhelmed with emotion, drew their swords in unison.

The sharp sound of metal rained down on the northern knights.

“Choose!”

Even Solen Racha flinched at the fierce momentum.

Tasha, standing by the Empress, snapped to attention, drew her sword, and stood beside Noel.

Cold sweat trickled down Solen Racha’s spine.

Their dark blue eyes, reminiscent of the northern sea, scanned the knights facing off with drawn swords and Noel, standing firmly in the center.

They hadn’t anticipated where the southern swords, in Bollonico’s absence, would turn.

Nor had they considered the presence of the Second Prince.

Was the rumor of his stuttering false?

The Second Prince’s face, glaring with fiery authority, was nothing short of majestic.