MMLP 24

chapter 24

The prophecy that Rosinante was the Savior was a top-secret matter known only to a few leaders of the Divine Nation.

The Divine Nation had planned to protect Rosinante and, through the spy Shadow, who had infiltrated the royal palace, offered him asylum.

The exile plan, designed in stages, was set to be executed immediately once Rosinante gave his final approval.

Who could dare to criticize him for abandoning his homeland in the face of ruthless violence, discrimination, and assassination threats?

Shadow, who had infiltrated the palace as the prince’s attendant, had always been at Rosinante’s side. Knowing his gentle personality well, he had never once thought that the exile proposal would be rejected.

Yet why had this happened…?

In the sparse chamber of the prince’s palace, with the serene moonlight streaming through the window at dawn, Rosinante declared:

“I’m sorry, but I must refuse your offer. I won’t run away—I’ll stay here.”

A strong shiver ran through Shadow.

As a man, he had acknowledged Rosinante as an admirable individual, and as an avid reader of knight novels, he had considered him a protagonist-worthy hero.

But as a spy of the Divine Nation tasked with overseeing Rosinante, Shadow could not simply marvel at him without concern.

“I will respect Your Highness’s will,” he said, because he was under threat from Rosinante.

“So, shall we put down our weapons and talk first?”

Speaking calmly to avoid provoking Rosinante, Shadow could feel the cold sweat dripping down his face beneath his black hair.

Logically speaking, Rosinante could not have suddenly become stronger—he had not made a pact with a demon, nor drawn a legendary sword. He had merely been forced to visit the Duke of Grimlore’s estate because of Diego’s tyranny.

Shadow was not an ordinary person; he was an elite agent sent by the Divine Nation.

If Rosinante, usually the one receiving blows in combat, was giving Shadow—an agent with unparalleled combat skill—such a hard time, there could only be one explanation.

The dagger Rosinante held was pointed at his own neck.

“It’s a poisoned blade. Someone who wanted me dead kindly applied a deadly poison.”

“How did you know where the carotid artery was?”

“Experience.”

Rosinante’s answer, casually spoken as if noting assassins’ usual target, sounded gravely serious.

Exile could be replaced; the Savior’s life could not.

Keeping his distance from Rosinante, Shadow dropped to his knees and raised both hands above his head.

“Oh, gods, please, I beg you, do not act rashly. I cannot begin to fathom how many people’s fates rest in Your Highness’s hands.”

While Shadow’s back soaked in sweat from careful movements, Rosinante stood silently in a stance capable of ending him at any moment.

No order to prostrate himself had been given.

Yet, for some reason, Shadow felt that pressing his forehead to the ground would somehow resolve the situation, and so he worshipped the prince of the empire.

“Besides refusing exile, is there anything you wish to request from the Divine Nation?”

The words, spoken hesitantly, were astonishingly close to the truth.

Rosinante, who had kept his mouth firmly shut, finally reacted to Shadow’s question.

“I don’t want to ask the Divine Nation. I want to ask you.”

“I hope your request is just fetching water.”

“Unfortunately, no. My request is… to make me like you.”

Though Shadow kept his head lowered, his expression looked as if he had seen a snowflake in midsummer.

“Please explain what you mean.”

“I want to become strong like you. If I were stronger, I wouldn’t need to abandon my homeland or stage these pathetic suicidal stunts. I am the source of all my problems. I need to change.”

“So I offered the easy path,” Shadow said.

All he had to do was leave with a decoy—why make things complicated?

Until recently, Rosinante had almost agreed, but his sudden change of heart frustrated Shadow. At the same time, it confirmed that something must have happened to him.

“Changing only the surface won’t do.”

“As a man to a man, speak freely. You seem different since visiting the Grimlore estate—did you catch the princess’s eye?”

“That’s not it!”

Bullseye. Shadow looked up at Rosinante. His face had flushed crimson, as if pricked by something.

In such a vulnerable state, disarming him would have been easy, but Shadow decided to hear him out a little longer.

After all, stories of a prince on a white horse never get old.

“It’s not that—I just… there’s someone I want to protect. Don’t misunderstand.”

At those words, Shadow’s mind conjured ten romance novels in an instant. Perhaps all that was needed to see the next volume was to train him properly.

“I don’t misunderstand. So, the moment you met her, it was love at first sight. Thinking of her makes your heart ache, and you swear to be her knight for life.”

“That’s not accurate at all….”

“That’s how men are. Exaggeration and bravado are like spices in cooking—no substance, but they pique interest.”

Rising to his feet, Shadow dusted off his clothes and took a place beside Rosinante.

Though he hadn’t moved with particular agility, the poisoned dagger had somehow ended up in Shadow’s hands.

He tossed it in the air and caught it, demonstrating skilled juggling maneuvers.

“No matter the reason, learning combat skills is advisable. Even if you had chosen exile, you would have trained at least once before leaving.”

“You’re going to teach me?”

“As a Light Apostle entrusted with protecting the Savior, gladly.”

Shadow nodded willingly.

Rosinante’s eyebrows knit suspiciously, but there was no real problem.

In such a risky situation, Shadow had no intention of enforcing the exile plan against Rosinante’s will. High-intensity training to forge a novice into a warrior was, after all, his specialty.

At thirteen, Shadow had already earned a reputation as the “Tiger Instructor.” If a bored youth voluntarily stepped into the tiger’s den, Shadow would gladly oblige.

“Since today marks the beginning, let’s start with a light warm-up: 1,000 push-ups.”

The beginning of hell had arrived.

Meanwhile:

“How can a person change so much in such a short time?”

Failing at magic, I offered feeble excuses.

Despite rigorous training disguised as Zerodines’ special lessons, even on the day before the hunting competition, I had made little progress.

At this point, self-doubt was inevitable.

“Maybe my talent as a mage wasn’t that remarkable after all.”

Sighing, Zerodines effortlessly manipulated my left hand to reveal my magical aptitude.

The guest hall of the southern imperial territory suddenly brightened as a star flashed in the darkened room where the candles had been extinguished.

“Ah! My eyes!”

―Muggles wouldn’t understand your potential, but I do. This is first-class talent, one in a million.

Officially, a mage’s skill is divided into Circles 1 through 9.

Yet, if judged by raw potential alone, an unofficial method ranks talent from first to sixth class based on the brilliance of their innate magical aura.

I had casually treated my magical aura as a flashlight for emergencies, so Zerodines’ explanation left me bewildered.

“I’m first-class?”

―Muggles cannot recognize it, nor can they see below second-class.

If you cannot see the Weaving Star, you cannot gauge the sun’s brightness either! It’s a rule visible only from above.

―The magic from your left hand was influenced by me, but the power is truly yours.

“Really…? Then let’s try again.”

Belief in oneself makes a world of difference.

Though I missed my aim, I succeeded in causing an explosion.

Gilbert and Gray rushed into my room, panicked, and I had to explain everything.

After the chaotic dawn, the day of the hunting competition finally arrived, the sun rising high in the sky.