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Chapter 13
The House of Battenberg was a prestigious and ancient noble family that had served the imperial family since the founding of the Mayer Empire.
The story of the Battenberg knight who loyally stayed by the first emperor’s side like a shadow during the birth of the continent’s most powerful empire became a role model for countless boys who dreamed of knighthood.
The head of House Battenberg had always been the emperor’s knight. Even those who had never wielded a sword still bore the title of “Knight of the Emperor.” Ethan was no exception.
Like his parents and grandparents before him, like the first emperor and his knight, Ethan would become the sword that protected the next emperor. For Battenberg was, before being a duke, the emperor’s knight and the empire’s first sword. Ethan’s lord had been determined even before he was born.
It was the man standing before him now.
“Are you even listening, Ethan?”
“My apologies. I was distracted.”
A polite yet blunt reply followed. Crown Prince Tristan let out a short laugh of disbelief.
“Well, at least you admit it without shame.”
“Would you mind repeating what you said?”
“Forget it.”
Tristan quickly continued.
“You must be quite relaxed, to be distracted in the middle of a spar.”
“…”
“I suppose I can’t talk either, since I tried to distract you with pointless chatter.”
He laughed. Tristan was a man of bold and straightforward character.
His solid build, sun-kissed skin, and strikingly handsome face suited a knight more than a noble crown prince. Rather than sitting at a desk buried in paperwork, he preferred to be physically active.
Some whispered that he was a reckless warmonger who spent his days playing war games in the borderlands. But Ethan didn’t see it that way.
Tristan had the makings of a great man. Sure, he could be wild and immature, but Ethan was capable of making objective judgments regardless of his loyalty.
The moment Tristan stepped back, his wooden sword flew through the air with a dull thud. Ethan had struck the base of the sword without missing a beat.
“Oops.”
“Shall we continue?”
Though his wooden sword was pointed in Tristan’s direction, the tip rested downward. Even so, the fact that Ethan was still holding back stung Tristan’s pride. Yet, seeing that cold, unreadable face looking out for him in its own way made him feel petty for being annoyed.
“No.”
Tristan looked at Ethan, who stood without even a hint of fatigue, with frustration.
“Could you at least pretend you’re tired?”
“…”
“What can I expect from you. That’s enough for today.”
Tristan shook his head. Ethan handed the wooden sword to the waiting knight and received his real sword in return. The motion was smooth, as if he’d done it hundreds or thousands of times. The way he casually gripped and released the hilt was an old habit.
Ethan was a man of consistency.
Once he decided on something, he stuck with it to the end, no matter what it was. Tristan was also notoriously stubborn, but even he couldn’t match Ethan.
“When will I ever get to see you break composure like a fool?”
“A peculiar hobby. If you’d like, I can arrange it.”
Ethan said it indifferently.
“Just give the order, and I’ll do it right away.”
“Now that’s no fun. Takes all the meaning out of it.”
Tristan laughed heartily.
“I suppose she’s here to watch again today.”
He lifted only his eyes to look at Ethan.
“What will you do?”
“Do I have any other options?”
“No, I just feel bad.”
Ethan’s brow twitched almost imperceptibly.
“Ha! No need to show such obvious displeasure.”
“…”
“I can’t exactly stop her, you know…”
Tristan wrinkled his nose in rare discomfort. He glanced off into the distance, and Ethan followed his gaze—only to scowl openly this time. At the end of his gaze stood Tristan’s younger cousin, Dalia.
“You’ll figure out a nice way to turn her down, right?”
“What exactly am I turning down?”
“Come on. It’s all because of your good looks. You made my little cousin fall for you at first sight.”
“…”
“Don’t glare at me.”
“…”
“At least say you didn’t.”
Tristan shrugged. Ethan was not a man to lie to his lord.
“She’s pretty cute, don’t you think? Hmm?”
“…”
“You really can’t make small talk, huh.”
That’s what makes you so charming. Tristan added a few more careless words and waved toward Dalia.
“Brother!”
Dalia’s face lit up as she approached them.
“Dalia. What a coincidence.”
A coincidence, sure. Ethan scoffed without realizing it. Tristan glanced at him sideways.
“Sir Battenberg.”
“….”
Ethan’s expression remained unreadable, but his faint annoyance was obvious even to someone not particularly observant.
Since inheriting his title, no one had called him “Sir” in reference to knighthood—except Tristan, who sometimes did so out of habit. Dalia had overheard it and began calling him “Sir Battenberg” ever since.
“I’m glad we’ve been running into each other so often lately.”
“Quite the coincidence, indeed.”
They had “coincidentally” met at a dinner hosted by the emperor, and again at an event Tristan invited him to. A strange number of coincidences.
“Yes, quite the coincidence. I must be lucky.”
“….”
Ethan didn’t respond. He merely nodded. Dalia tried to continue the conversation, glancing at Tristan for help, but Ethan kept his mouth shut despite the unspoken pressure.
He wasn’t afraid of Dalia. Even though she was the crown prince’s cousin, her mother had only been a princess. She had no authority to command Ethan. But both the emperor and Tristan doted on her.
“Can’t stop her,” my ass…
It was clear they were trying to pair him with Dalia. If she had the courage to make a direct confession, he could reject her. But Dalia never said anything outright—whether due to shyness or fear of rejection—and so everyone around her was dragged into it.
If only she would confess, he could turn her down. But she said nothing, leaving the people around her to deal with the fallout. Ethan respected Tristan deeply, even considered him a close friend—but right was right.
While Ethan remained silent, Tristan gently sent a downcast Dalia away. Watching his beloved cousin’s retreating figure, Tristan spoke.
“You really don’t feel even a little interested?”
“None at all.”
“Be honest. Dalia’s a decent bride candidate…”
“No interest.”
“You’re getting to the age where you should settle down.”
“And so is Your Highness, is he not?”
“Well, I’m busy…”
“So am I.”
“At least I’m dating! Shouldn’t you think about producing an heir? Or are you planning to die old and alone?”
“I can always adopt a smart child from the collateral line.”
“That’s not what I meant!”
“Are you telling me to toy with your cousin and then throw her away?”
“Are you insane?”
“Just to be clear, I’m not interested in that either.”
“…Is it that you…?”
“I am perfectly healthy.”
“…”
At last, Tristan gave up, both hands raised.
“Fine, fine. I’ll stop. Just—stop glaring at me.”
“My apologies.”
“You could at least deny it…”
Tristan chuckled, defeated.
More than anything, Ethan simply had no interest in romance. Dating, relationships, marriage—none of it appealed to him. Like most teenagers, he had once briefly been curious about the opposite sex, but it had never gone beyond that.
He was generally uninterested in others, and while he had vaguely assumed he would someday marry for duty, that all changed because of his sister—Greta.
“If I’m going to end up like her, I’d rather die alone.”
Greta.
The daughter of House Battenberg had once been famed for her courage and intelligence. She had a natural talent for swordsmanship and unmatched beauty.
Or so they said.
“You hate it that much when people say we’re alike?”
“It gives me chills.”
Ethan had never thought Greta was pretty, but she was his sister—praised endlessly nonetheless. She had joined the royal guard alongside him and achieved great things. While it was creepy to hear that they resembled each other, she had once been a fine rival.
But Greta changed completely the moment she met Marquis Reynold.
In the end, she passed away, leaving behind her young son.
Thinking of Greta always filled Ethan with a choking mix of anger and frustration.
She had been such a fool. Her life didn’t have to end that way.
“Ethan.”
“Yes?”
“How is Greta’s son doing?”
Tristan asked the question with uncharacteristic caution. As long as Ethan had known Tristan, he had also known Greta.
“He’s doing well.”
Ethan answered promptly. The boy ran wild through the estate like an untamed colt—surely that counted as doing well.
“That’s good.”
Tristan patted Ethan’s shoulder. His face said there was more he wanted to say, but he held back. Then he quickly changed his expression and grinned.
“Dalia says she’s willing to raise her husband’s nephew like her own child.”
“….”
This time, Ethan’s expression darkened so visibly that even Tristan burst out laughing.
“Give my regards to your nephew too.”
A graceful exit—for a man fleeing the scene.
