Chapter 72: Prince Barbro
The carriage moved unhurriedly through the morning mist, wheels rolling over stone pavement with a steady, rhythmic sound.
Lucian leaned against the carriage wall. The capital's morning mist was beginning to lift, and as it thinned, the grey-white stone buildings emerged — the soaring spires of the temples, and in the distance the tall towers of Lorente Castle, each coming into focus like something rising from a dream.
His thoughts were not on the view.
Momon.
Or rather — Ainz Ooal Gown.
Since advancing to Mithril rank, "Momon" had gone completely quiet in the Adventurers Guild's public records. No new commissions. No appearances at any guild hall in any town. As though the person had never existed.
Something was off about that.
Lucian's fingers tapped lightly against his knee. From everything he knew about Ainz, the Undead King placed considerable value on the "adventurer Momon" identity. It was his route for gathering intelligence, building a reputation, and working his way toward influence in the New World.
Under normal circumstances, even without the achievement of eliminating a vampire — Ainz should have been steadily climbing through the adventurer ranks by other means, building toward an Adamantite rank that would give him genuine reach.
But he hadn't.
Shalltear's disappearance had pushed Ainz toward withdrawal.
Lucian turned that conclusion over. Unlike the original story, Ainz at this point was working with considerably less intelligence — and had lost Shalltear's combat power in concrete terms. Given Ainz's characteristically cautious nature, choosing to go quiet for a period made sense under these conditions.
Pull Nazarick's core strength back in. Reduce external activity. Avoid any further losses.
The thing was...
The "adventurer Momon" identity itself was clean. Nothing connected it to Nazarick in any way that should have raised flags. Ainz could have kept using it without any particular risk, as long as the link to Nazarick stayed buried.
Unless what he was worried about was something else entirely.
Ainz might have concluded that his own sudden appearance, a powerful adventurer of unknown origin — was itself a reason for suspicion.
An unidentified team of extraordinary capability turning up without history would draw attention from those in power, in any country.
Ainz may have decided that continuing to operate visibly at this moment would invite investigation from whoever had moved against Shalltear.
And with Shalltear missing and the enemy's identity still unknown, any additional attention was a liability.
So he had disappeared.
Lucian let out a slow breath.
Whatever the reasoning — Ainz's pace of conquest had slowed. That was good news, even if only temporary.
The carriage drew to a stop before a set of massive gates.
Lorente Castle.
Lucian stepped down from the carriage and looked up at this center of the Kingdom's power. The high walls were built from enormous blocks of grey-white stone, their surface catching the morning light with a faint damp sheen.
The royal family certainly didn't do things cheaply.
Lucian passed through the gates and entered the interior. The corridors were wide enough for four carriages to travel abreast. Enormous tapestries hung from both walls, woven with the Kingdom's emblems. Every few steps stood a statue, and light from magic lamps fitted with [Continual Light] spilled down from the vaulted ceilings, setting the entire corridor in a wash of brilliant gold.
Lucian's footsteps echoed through the open space. He walked unhurriedly, his gaze moving from statue to statue, quietly estimating the value of each as he passed.
If this money had gone toward the Kingdom's actual development, they might not have spent the last several wars being pushed around by the Empire.
He was still thinking this when footsteps came from around the bend ahead.
Heavy footsteps, carrying a particular deliberate rhythm — the gait of someone who wanted their presence to announce itself. Boots struck stone with a clear, ringing sound that left no question about the wearer's approach.
Lucian stopped.
From around the corner came a young man with blond hair and blue eyes.
He wore a dress uniform of striking elaborateness — gold thread embroidered at the collar, a longsword at his hip that was considerably more decorative than functional.
Barbro Andrean Ield Ryle Vaiself.
First Prince of the Kingdom. First in line for the throne.
Lucian suppressed a sigh. Of all the luck.
He considered sidestepping, but the corridor went only one direction, and the man was clearly heading straight toward him. There was no graceful exit.
Lucian stepped forward, placed his right hand over his chest, and gave a slight forward incline — the standard bow of one noble addressing a superior.
"Prince Barbro."
Barbro stopped in front of him.
That square face wore a smile, the curve at the corner of his mouth barely qualified as pleasant — but those blue eyes held something that made the skin prickle slightly. It was the particular gaze of someone who was convinced they had everything firmly in hand.
"Lord Lucian." Barbro's voice was large, large enough to pull echoes from the empty corridor. "It's been some time."
"I hope Your Highness is well."
Lucian's response was brief and respectful. The characteristic easy smile stayed on his face.
Barbro looked him over, his gaze carrying an edge of appraisal that made no effort to be subtle.
"Lord Lucian's exploits on the battlefield have reached my ears." Barbro's tone carried a deliberate air of admiration. "I hear that you personally cut down a powerful orc fighter without breaking a sweat. Remarkable. Truly remarkable."
The words themselves weren't wrong. But coming from Barbro's mouth, something about them sat at the wrong angle. It was like listening to someone who had never touched a sword in his life attempt to evaluate a blade — all the right-sounding phrases assembled in a row, and yet the overall effect somehow landed hollow.
"Your Highness is too generous." Lucian inclined his head slightly. "Nothing more than good fortune."
"Modesty doesn't suit a man of your reputation." Barbro waved a hand, and the smile pulled back somewhat. He stepped half a pace forward, closing the distance, and lowered his voice.
"In any case, Lord Lucian, I've been hearing that you've been spending quite a bit of time with the Second Prince."
Lucian's brow moved by the smallest fraction.
There it is.
The Second Prince — Zanac Valleon Igana Ryle Vaiself. Unlike the fool standing in front of him, Zanac had genuine ability, and stood in good standing within the King's faction.
"Your Highness reads too much into it." Lucian's voice was even. "I have attended a handful of courtesy meetings with His Highness Prince Zanac. Nothing beyond that."
Barbro laughed. The sound rolled through the corridor — a practiced heartiness that made everyone within earshot want to wince.
"Good to hear." Barbro clapped a hand on Lucian's shoulder. The force of it landed squarely between friendly and pointed. "Lord Lucian is a smart man. Surely you understand where the Kingdom's future is headed."
He paused. The smile developed a harder edge.
"You've been sending your domain's cavalry to support the Dragon Kingdom for years now, haven't you? Deploying your own forces to a foreign nation — that could very easily be defined as treason. Fortunately, His Majesty is merciful and has chosen not to pursue the matter."
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