Chapter 38

“Damn… it….”

When Hastings opened his eyes, he was greeted only by the throbbing pain that racked his entire body and the surrounding darkness.

‘This damp air and that musty stench… a cave, perhaps.’

Clink—

He tried to move his hands and feet, but they were already tightly bound. Only the faint rattle of metal chains echoed around him.

Hastings was strung up from the ceiling, his entire body wrapped in chains.

‘It’ll be difficult to get out of this without help.’

Despite the pounding fear in his chest, Hastings forced himself to stay calm and assess the situation.

‘To think the Chief Attendant was one of the Third Prince’s lackeys….’

And yet, the man had gone so far as to abduct Hastings, a known close aide of the Fifth Prince, in broad daylight.

‘Such audacity… he’s not just a mere pawn but part of the core faction. His Highness is in danger.’

Even in this situation, Hastings found himself more worried for Yuwon than for his own safety. Though, in truth, Yuwon had long since deemed Marcellus an enemy.

‘Marcellus isn’t that timid eunuch His Highness and I once knew… He’s a man with at least ten serpents coiled inside him. Far too dangerous for His Highness to keep close. I must somehow deliver this news….’

Afterward, Hastings struggled desperately to free himself, but it was futile. The bindings were so tight that even wriggling was all he could manage.

“Damn it…!”

In the pitch-black darkness, the irregular clinking of chains was the only sound that filled the cave.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when—

“You’ve awakened, I see.”

It was Marcellus. That loathsome voice pierced through the darkness clearly.

“Marcellus…! You bastard…!”

“Humid, foul-smelling… This is why I hate caves. And to make matters worse, it’s dark too. Not exactly the ideal setting for a pleasant chat, don’t you agree?”

Whoosh—!

As if his words were a signal, torches flickered to life within the cave.

A single torch illuminated the rocky chamber, its reddish light staining both men’s faces a sickly yellow.

“The lighting’s good enough now… I’d offer you tea if I could, but that’s a bit difficult given the circumstances.”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Marcellus!”

“What do you think? It’s a kidnapping. And if you don’t like it, well… I’ve already shown my hand. I can’t just let you walk away now, can I?”

His voice slithered like a snake—sticky, unsettling. Marcellus seemed like a completely different person.

“You bastard…!”

Clang—!

Furious, Hastings thrashed against his restraints, as if he could tear Marcellus apart. The chains rattled violently in response.

“You were brought here rather roughly, so you must not be feeling well. Don’t strain yourself. You’ll want to conserve your strength—after all, you never know what might happen next.”

Marcellus seemed to take everything as a joke. That mocking tone only made Hastings’ anger boil further.

Grit—

Hastings ground his teeth.

“What do you plan to do with me?”

“Well… is that really a question for me? I suppose that depends on how you, Viscount, decide to behave from here on out.”

“How could someone who serves as Chief Attendant of the Prince’s Palace…! You took a loyalty oath, didn’t you? What happened to your Oath, Marcellus! Have you no shame?”

Oath. The very word struck Marcellus’ most sensitive nerve. His face turned ashen, fury surging through him.

Seized by anger, Marcellus grabbed Hastings by the collar and slammed him into the stone wall, chains and all.

Thud—!

“Ghk!”

“…You bookworm whelp. Watch your tongue. You’re a hundred years too early to lecture me about oaths.”

Each word dripped with rage; the playful tone from before was gone without a trace.

“Well, look at that… I let myself get worked up. My apologies. Seems this isn’t the best time for a chat. I’ll come back later.”

“Where do you think you’re going! Marcellus, release me at once!”

“If a single shout could undo those bindings, I wouldn’t have bothered with them in the first place. My earlier offer still stands, so think carefully while you hang there.”

Having said his piece, Marcellus turned on his heel.

“If you value your life, that is. Now then, I’ll be off.”

As Marcellus left, the torchlight flickered out once more. Darkness reclaimed the cave, leaving only Hastings suspended in silence.

As Marcellus stepped out of the cave, a masked man hurried up to him.

“Did the talk end? What are your orders now?”

“He’s playing dumb—or maybe just doesn’t understand his situation yet. We’ll wait a little longer.”

“I see. I thought he’d be easy—bookish types usually are—but the bastard’s more stubborn than I expected.”

“Well, we haven’t even laid a hand on him yet. It’d be boring if he broke this early.”

“Then… shall I start?”

Marcellus nodded as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Yes. But he might still prove useful later, so don’t damage the body—just make him suffer. We’ve got both poisons and antidotes. With your skills, that should be easy enough, no?”

“Yes, then I’ll make sure to cause as much pain as possible without leaving lasting harm.”

The conversation was chilling, yet both men spoke as though discussing routine work.

“How long do we wait for his answer?”

“Hmm… at least three days, I’d say.”

“T-three days, sir?”

“Back in our time, we’d have given three days at least. Don’t you think?”

Thanks to that single remark from Marcellus, Hastings was now destined to endure three days of agony so intense he’d wish for death without receiving it.

“Understood. Then I’ll proceed.”

“Oh, and don’t report this. I’ll return in three days myself.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll do as ordered.”

“Good. I’ll be off to watch His Highness the Fifth Prince’s preliminary match.”

Barely two hours had passed since Marcellus and Hastings had met in the library—yet he had already acted with alarming speed and precision.

Marcellus’ hidden moves were never to be underestimated.

Among the events of the Houkijisu Tournament, the swordsmanship competition was one of the most popular.

Thanks to Fisk’s arrangements, Yuwon had been assigned to the first preliminary match. His opponent—Trebion—was considered a strong contender for the runner-up title. It was bound to be an interesting fight.

“The Fifth Prince, joining the tournament with such enthusiasm despite not usually doing such things—and his first match is against Trebion? Seems Tindal’s paying him back for yesterday’s incident.”

“Heh, there’s no suspense. It’ll be a forfeit and a free win.”

“Forfeit? Not likely. I heard he’s fully suited up and waiting to fight.”

“What? The Fifth Prince didn’t forfeit? If he gets matched against that butcher Trebion, he won’t just get beaten—he’ll lose at least an arm or a leg!”

“Maybe he’s got something up his sleeve—or maybe he doesn’t know who Trebion is. Either way, let’s hope Trebion keeps himself in check, no matter what Tindal told him.”

“The best outcome would be if the Fifth Prince surrenders before getting beaten to a pulp.”

“Yeah. That’d be for the best.”

As Yuwon’s preliminary match approached, the crowd swelled with noise and anticipation.

It was only the preliminaries.

Yet, not only the Houkijisu participants who didn’t take part in the swordsmanship event, but also the young ladies and the contestants waiting for their own turns had all gathered to watch Yuwon’s match.

“Oh my… shouldn’t someone stop him?”

“They say His Highness the Fifth Prince’s opponent is that butcher, Trebion. My brother said the moment he saw the match-up that His Highness would surely forfeit, so why hasn’t he yet…? Isn’t he going to get seriously hurt at this rate?”

“What are we supposed to do…?”

The young ladies fretted anxiously, stamping their feet. They were so worried that each clutched a handkerchief tightly to wipe the sweat from their palms.

Looking closely, most of them were daughters of families with low noble rank.

The Crown Prince, the Second Prince, the Third, and the Fourth Prince had all long secured their places. Even without formal betrothals, these young women of minor houses could never dream of approaching such lofty men.

However, Yuwon was different.

From his demeanor at the banquet, it was clear something about him had changed—but because of the long years he’d been called “White Dog,” his status remained ambiguous.

‘And the engagement with the Valaris Family is broken! During this tournament, I must make sure His Highness the Fifth Prince notices me!’

It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity—perhaps even a chance to forge a connection with the Imperial Family. Such an opportunity could not be missed.

Though most young ladies did not participate in any of the Houkijisu Tournament events themselves, this was precisely why they still attended—

To compete among themselves for Yuwon’s attention.

A silent contest among the young ladies burned around Yuwon.

At the same time, in the participants’ waiting room.

“Normally, the preliminaries are held simultaneously in several places, so it’s rare for such a crowd to gather in one area… It must be because it’s Your Highness’s first time entering the tournament. A rather intriguing match-up, it seems.”

“Tindal set the stage quite nicely. Now I just have to give them a little sword dance on it.”

Despite the impending match, Yuwon and Terrien showed no signs of tension as they chatted casually. Then Terrien’s tone grew serious.

He went on to recount stories of those who had been crippled by Trebion Curington’s ruthless swordsmanship.

“…That time, the boy was only thirteen. That bastard could have ended the duel without shedding a drop of blood. But instead, as if claiming a trophy, he crushed the child’s wrist.”

By the end of the fourth story, Yuwon had made up his mind.

“Terrien.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“I understand what you’re trying to say. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure to sever at least the arm he uses to hold a sword.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

“There’s no need for thanks between us.”

“Then… I’ll be going. My preliminary match is at the next arena. Please, take care of yourself, Your Highness.”

“Go on, then. I’ll see you later.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Terrien bowed respectfully, and Yuwon waved him off. Soon after, Yuwon rose from his seat.

“Well then, I should get going too….”

Yuwon stepped out of the waiting room and onto the polished stage. The stands were packed with spectators.

Upon seeing Yuwon, the referee hurried over to him.

“You’ve arrived early, Your Highness. How would you like to proceed with the match?”

It was a routine question. The referee fully expected Yuwon to choose a practice sword.

“I’ll use a real sword.”

But Yuwon’s reply defied all expectation. Against Trebion, of all opponents? The referee stammered.

“A—a real sword? Are you sure that’s wise?”

“As long as my opponent agrees.”

The referee lowered his voice, speaking carefully.

“Your Highness, if I may… to challenge him with a real sword is—”

“That’s enough. I said I’ll do it.”

He had come here ready to spill blood, and the referee’s attempts to dissuade him were only frustrating. Yuwon stepped forward and called out to the man standing opposite him.

“Young Lord Curington.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Trebion Curington was a bear of a man—easily over two meters tall, with a body built not merely tall but thick, his muscles bulging like inflated bladders.

It was the kind of physique only those born with brute strength could possess. Of course, in a battle of magic and skill, mere muscle would not decide the outcome, yet even so, one glance at Trebion’s size made it clear why he was considered a powerhouse.

“How about a real sword duel?”

“…Pardon? Did you say a real sword duel?”

Trebion’s eyes widened at Yuwon’s question.

“With so many gathered to watch, wouldn’t it be dull to fight with those toy-like practice swords?”

“Well, I… actually prefer a real sword myself, but… are you truly sure, Your Highness? I mean no harm, yet swords have no eyes.”

He lied without even blinking. Knowing perfectly well what the man was thinking, Yuwon answered with a smile.

“So, you’re fine with it then. Good. Let’s proceed that way.”

“Y-yes, of course, Your Highness.”

He had been planning to rough Yuwon up anyway, and now things were going even easier than expected. Trebion’s face twitched with a sly grin hidden beneath his feigned surprise.

‘Heh, the White Dog volunteering for a real sword duel? If I play it right, I might get to cripple an arm or two.’

The audience stirred restlessly at the exchange.

“A—a real sword?”

“A real duel here? He’s lost his mind. The White Dog’s gone insane…! Facing the Crown Prince was one thing, but now his arrogance will cost him an arm….”

For Yuwon, whose senses were several times keener than an ordinary person’s, every murmur reached his ears distinctly.

‘They’re all worrying for nothing.’

Yuwon smiled faintly. More people than he’d expected were genuinely concerned for him.

‘Well… for all the trouble my so-called rampages caused, there weren’t that many real victims.’

In truth, Yurion’s reputation as the Empire’s infamous wastrel wasn’t quite deserved.

Those who had suffered directly were mostly the servants of the Fifth Prince’s Palace who’d endured his antics.

Among them, only a few—like Terrien—had been truly wronged.

‘It’s about time I say goodbye to that “White Dog” name.’

At that moment, the referee’s voice rang out.

“By the consent of both sides, this match will proceed as a real sword duel! Contestants, draw your blades and prepare!”

As if he had been waiting for the signal, Yuwon drew the White Dragon Sword from his waist.

The hero’s blade, freed from its scabbard, split the sunlight into radiant shards.

The rampage of the White Dog—or rather, the White Dragon—had begun.