The Hunt of Arrogance
"W-what is this…?"
The old knight muttered as he stared at his raised sword.
The blade, which had been shining brightly even under the midday sun, had become nothing more than a piece of metal reflecting sunlight.
Ulrich had withdrawn the sanctification.
The authority he had gained by inscribing his name in the celestial register—the right to wield the mana of this world—had been reclaimed. As a result, the mana coating the old knight's blade vanished.
And not just that—the mana within his body must have drained away as well. No matter how skilled one was, a body without mana was frail. With mana, one could crush steel barehanded. Without it, even the armor on one's own body became unbearably heavy.
Even the aging brought by the passage of time was harsh—but the loss he experienced in an instant was beyond comparison.
The old knight must have realized it. Why the five before him had fallen so helplessly, why they had frozen at the decisive moment.
But it was too late.
As he stood there, stunned by the loss, Ulrich struck his wrist.
"Ghk…!"
Groaning, the old knight dropped his sword.
Even as his face twisted in pain, he stared at the young man passing by him. Bloodshot eyes locked onto Ulrich, his mouth opened—but no words came out.
There was nothing he could say.
He simply could not understand what had happened to him.
Roberta shifted her gaze to the mage.
He was still covering his face, trembling. Just moments ago, his hands had been wrinkled and aged—but now the skin was firm again. His body, which had begun reverting to its true aged form after losing mana, had regained its youth.
She shifted her gaze again—to the four knights.
They were bleeding from their wounds, but none were fatal. Ulrich had only disabled them—ensuring they could neither grip a weapon nor stand. With healing magic, they would recover without lasting effects.
The sanctification had been withdrawn only briefly.
He had used that power merely to create an opening. The moment he subdued his opponents, he returned the authority. Aside from the mage, it had been so brief that the others might even think it was an illusion.
"Sir Nellos!"
The knights who had been fighting the prince's guards cried out in shock.
"Don't come!"
The old knight Nellos shouted urgently—but the knights, blood boiling, did not listen.
More than a dozen of them wheeled their horses around and charged without formation.
Ulrich stopped walking.
He looked straight at the incoming riders—no, at the horses.
In the next instant, the horses reared up on their hind legs. Just a few steps away, they began thrashing wildly as if stung by something.
"W-what—?!"
The riders were thrown to the ground in confusion.
The panicked horses trampled those beneath them. Armor crumpled, bones shattered.
One knight crawled desperately, barely escaping the hooves, and managed to rise—but before he could regain his stance, Ulrich kicked him in the abdomen. As the man collapsed, Ulrich seized his sword and drove it through his palm, pinning him to the ground.
Ulrich sheathed his own blade and turned.
From directly behind, an axe cleaved through the air.
He caught the attacking knight's arm mid-swing and twisted it backward.
Crack.
The knight lost his grip on the weapon. Ulrich seized the dropped hammer and brought it down onto the knight's back.
Of the dozen or so, half were crushed under hooves.
The rest fell just as helplessly.
The horses soon calmed, standing firmly on all fours—but the knights lay sprawled across the ground, utterly defeated.
"…."
Those who had witnessed the scene from beginning to end stood frozen, mouths agape.
Not only the emperor's knights who had been overwhelmed—but also the prince and his guards were stunned.
"Withdraw. There's no need to spill more blood."
At those words, the knights flushed with anger and clenched their teeth—but none stepped forward.
Ulrich moved a few steps aside.
"Only those who wish to see this through to the end should remain."
As Ulrich stepped aside, as if yielding the ground, the old knight silently nodded.
The remaining knights hesitated—but eventually moved forward, cautiously watching Ulrich. They gathered the wounded and withdrew from the caravan.
The emperor's knights disappeared beyond the horizon.
Until they were completely out of sight, no one in the caravan spoke.
Silence spread across the windless plain.
Ulrich turned around.
After watching the horizon for a moment, he shifted his gaze to the unknown prince.
At a glance, the young man appeared to be about the same age as Ulrich and Roberta—but the old knight had called him Your Highness.
The young man looked at Ulrich with a dazed expression, unable to decide how to respond.
A stranger had appeared out of nowhere and defeated an enemy three times the size of his own guard—his thoughts must have been in turmoil.
An awkward silence lingered.
"…Ahem."
The young man cleared his throat.
"You saved my life. I don't know who you are, but you have my thanks."
He tilted his head slightly and bowed.
"Ulrich. Ulrich of Dithmarschen."
Repeating the name to himself, the young man narrowed his eyes.
From his reaction, it seemed he didn't recognize it.
A woman standing behind him stepped forward and whispered,
"The duke of the Osnover Kingdom? …Ah, the king's adoptive father?"
The young man examined Ulrich's appearance and frowned.
"You don't look anything like what I expected."
"My appearance is often questioned."
"This isn't just 'looking young.' Didn't you live for over 300 years?"
Ulrich gave a small nod.
"I have lived that long as the lord of Dithmarschen."
"Dragon's blood? No… that alone wouldn't explain it. Then… a mage?"
The prince scratched his chin, then waved his hand as if the answer didn't matter.
"Well, it doesn't matter. This world is full of strange things. It wouldn't be that surprising if someone lived for centuries and still looked young."
He shrugged.
"What matters is—you helped me. Right?"
"That's true. Though I'm surprised. I thought you'd press further."
"I've been through too much to nitpick over things like that."
Wiping the blood from his hand onto his trousers, the young ruler placed a hand over his chest.
"In any case—I am Alessandro, King of Parvije. Once again, you have my gratitude, Duke of Dithmarschen."
The Kingdom of Parvije was a vassal state of the Jokuster Empire. Though a vassal, it was not merely a subject appointed by the emperor. Its ruling house dated back to the chaotic period following the fall of the Isturia Dynasty of the previous era.
When Kormilius established the Third Age under the banner of Jokuster, the Parvije family declared its support. In recognition of that contribution, they were formally granted vassal status. That was why the family name and the name of the kingdom were the same.
Judging by its history, it rivaled the Jokuster Empire itself, and its national power ranked among the highest of the vassal states.
And yet, the king of such a nation had been chased down by imperial knights, his life hanging by a thread.
Standing behind Ulrich, Roberta moistened her dry lips.
"Parvije… If I recall correctly, the king of Parvije was older than you."
"You must be talking about my father. The previous king was my father—and he died not long ago."
"It was too soon for him to pass."
Snorting, Alessandro made a drinking gesture with his right hand.
"Do you need an explanation? The reason's obvious."
Then he dragged his thumb across his throat.
"The culprit?"
"I have my suspicions—but it's not someone I can deal with."
He sat down on a chair brought by one of his guards.
"What about you, old man? Were you chased out as well?"
Old man?
Well—by age, it wasn't entirely wrong. Roberta suppressed a cough.
Ulrich, however, showed no reaction.
"Osnover sided with Jokuster, didn't it? But you helped me. I didn't reveal my identity, but that guy Nellos blabbered that they came under the emperor's orders. Helping me in that situation means making an enemy of the emperor—going directly against Jokuster's position."
The young king's gaze shifted toward Fritz and Roberta.
"And on top of that, you're wandering this far from Osnover, in times like these, with nothing but a brat and a priest. Isn't the reason obvious? You disagreed with the king of Osnover and got kicked out. Makes sense, doesn't it? And being the king's adoptive father in the first place is strange. Why didn't you take the crown yourself? Didn't your 'son' actually take it from you?"
At the word brat, Fritz's eyebrow twitched in irritation.
Alessandro waved his hand slightly, as if apologizing.
"Not bad. A fairly logical deduction."
"Right? So what's the answer?"
"You're wrong."
Alessandro tilted his head.
"Wrong?"
"Osnover will support Kormilius. The issue between them has been resolved. The reason I left my territory lies elsewhere. Something entirely unrelated to your guess."
"That's disappointing. I thought I'd found someone like me."
Washing his hands with water from a pouch his guard handed him, Alessandro drank the rest.
"So—you lost the throne."
"If not, would I be in this state? The one who put me on the throne after my father died kicked me out when I didn't obey."
"Can you tell me who that was?"
"There was a mage who had served my father—even before the previous king."
"Shwab," Alessandro answered.
"No one knew where he came from, but he was so talented that no one bothered to ask. Even the Empire coveted him. When my father suddenly died and my siblings began fighting over the throne, that bastard supported me and placed the crown on my head."
Leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, he propped his chin on his hand. Despite speaking of the past, his expression remained indifferent.
"Not long after, he said there was someone I needed to meet. Wouldn't even tell me who. Just dragged me along and made me listen. I think… he said the time had come to end the age of Kormilius. It sounded like nonsense. No—thinking about it now, maybe it wasn't nonsense. Either way, back then, it just sounded like a dog barking to me."
Roberta nearly said as expected, but stopped herself.
The court mage Shwab was deeply connected to non-theism. Had he intervened in Parvije just as he had in Osnover?
"You refused the proposal."
"As you can see—that's how I ended up like this. He tried to kill me, so I ran."
"What surname does this mage Shwab use?"
"Surname? Ah—you mean how mages take their master's name."
Ulrich nodded.
"He didn't have one. Said he learned everything on his own and didn't need a name. Even claimed the names of the Five Sages meant nothing to him. I thought he was ridiculously arrogant… but considering what he really was, it makes sense."
"So he wasn't human."
"Yeah. The bastard."
Dropping his chin from his fist, Alessandro spat out a curse.
"I told you earlier—I can't do anything about him. If he were human, I'd have tried something. But he's not. He's a dragon. A damn big one, wearing a human disguise. And I'm the guy who lost his kingdom to a lizard."
"…Did you hear its name?"
Roberta suddenly spoke up.
Alessandro looked at her and answered,
"When he lived as a human, he was Shwab. But after revealing his true nature… he called himself 'Kurvanoi.'"
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