The Crown Prince Who Raises Alt Characters

#Chapter 391 Tyrant (18) - Boast Around the time Duke Valencia had left, and the remaining court officials too were rushing about frantically for the war. Trisha quietly went to see the Emperor. "I'm going to pop over to the front lines for a bit." Judging by her tone alone, it was as light as if she were just going out for a short walk somewhere. One of Trisha's little talents — the kind that could make certain people nod along without even realizing the gravity of what was actually being said. The Emperor, of course, was not one of them. "Why?" "Well, it's because I don't have the ability to help with the 'preparations' Your Majesty is making here, right? So wouldn't it be more beneficial for me to go make a name for myself on the front lines instead?" Had she still been a figurehead Crown Princess like before, it might have been different, but the Trisha of now was the Empire's heir in every sense of the word. On top of that, she was the biological daughter of Beatrix, the other leader who, alongside Duke Valencia, currently led the noble faction. The more she distinguished herself on the front lines, the more the morale of the Empire's soldiers was bound to soar. "Yes, I suppose it would." The Emperor did not deny it. "But what if something happens to you in the process?" "Hmm, well, there is some risk, I guess? If I don't perform well, morale could crash instead, and if I get captured or killed it'd be a total disaster, but, well, that much is fine." "Trisha. This is not your world." Trisha and the Emperor's eyes met. "Even without you, this country isn't going to fall. I'll be able to settle things before it comes to that. But if you die in the process, that's the end for you. There's no guarantee anywhere that you'd be able to go back." Trisha was a sharp-witted girl. She too knew that what the Emperor was saying was eminently reasonable. In the end, this place, this Empire, was nothing more to Trisha than a foreign land she would briefly pass through before leaving. If this place fell apart, it wasn't as though Trisha's own empire would fall apart. Nor would making a name for herself here raise Trisha's actual reputation. Therefore, holding back was precisely the wisest course of conduct. Trisha pondered for a moment. In that brief span of time — one that might not even have amounted to a full second in actual time — several thoughts rose up in her mind. Unlike the Alondre she had originally known, the current Emperor was still ridiculously impressive, but he seemed to be lacking a certain composure. So it seemed like helping him would be good. She didn't know exactly how her return would happen, but since she herself intended to set 'this side's' version of herself back in order too, wouldn't it be good, for that version's sake, to have a nice fat stack of achievements? In her original world, an Imperial Princess had no occasion to go off brawling somewhere or to risk her life in actual combat, but here, didn't she get the chance to? The best defense was, after all, eliminating the attacker, and the best cure was eliminating the root of the illness — so if she built up the strength here to eliminate the enemies who'd take her head, it would be useful back in her original world too. But some long, drawn-out explanation didn't seem very cool. So, she answered. "Did big brother... just talk back to me?" Without a doubt. For the first time in her life, Trisha saw Alondre make a dumbfounded face. It was quite a delightful experience. "Ha, haha, hahahahaha!" Including the rare sight of her big brother clutching his stomach with laughter. *** Not long after the war with the Empire began, nearly ninety percent of the National Army's soldiers and officers on the Republic's side came to harbor this very thought. 'The Empire... isn't that big a deal after all, is it?' In a way, it was only natural. A seasoned soldier, in the end, is forged through blood and experience. Even though they'd had a brief rest recently, the Republic's people were those who, almost from the moment of its birth — if likened to a baby, from the time of its very first cry — had been forced to secure their survival through brutal real combat. The Empire, by comparison, including the reign of that beheaded Emperor, was made up of people who had had virtually no real combat experience for nearly two generations. Even if the generals and soldiers had drilled thoroughly again and again, they would still be at a disadvantage compared to a Republic army hardened by real combat — and on top of that, corruption meant even that training hadn't been properly carried out. So how could they possibly win against them! This contest's victory was already decided! The Empire would fall, and upon the continent the flames of revolution would blaze once more, granting freedom to all! "Lord Spear Saint, you're here; Lord Divine Archer, you're here; my lady, please go wild right over here. The head of House Boriel and the Tower Master seem to be busy developing this and that with His Majesty right now, so we need to buy as much time as we can." And in front of just such a National Army, 6th Ranks as outrageous as ninjas were deployed. Actually, compared to ninjas, their appearance wasn't particularly sudden, but at the very least, the shock the National Army received was comparable. "Oh, so basically, that castle over there is functioning as a logistics base stronghold, and we can't take it, is that it?" "Yes. It seems the enemy took our country's castle and modified it in several ways using earth — the mages' spells are neutralized because of the mounds of dirt, and even if we try to charge in directly, there are W-shaped structures scattered all over, so we end up taking concentrated fire before we can even open the gate." "Alright. Then let's smash the gate first. You lot follow after me later." A man wearing a feathered hat simply withstood the crossing net of fire with aura wrapped plainly around his body, then smashed the castle gate open with a single thrust of his spear. Then, through that gap, the spearmen forced it wide open and took the castle. "Lord Divine Archer. Thank you for coming to our aid. We need to stop them in this forest somehow, but we're at our wits' end...!" "Don't call me Divine Archer." "Pardon?" "There's an elf Guardian around, so for some other bowman to go on babbling about gods is a farce in itself. I keep telling everyone to stop with that Divine Archer nonsense because it's embarrassing, and no one ever listens. Anyway, I just need to stop their advance, right? Alright, kids. Let's go." When a single green-clad hunter, who utterly loathed being called the Divine Archer, grumbled his way into the forest along with the Ranger unit he himself had trained, one of the National Army's legions (roughly 30,000 strong), which had been riding a winning streak, lost seventy percent of its strength without even seeing the enemy's face. "Children, listen well. What is a human?" "A moving leather sack full of water, Matron!" (E/N: That's an interesting way to look at it) "Then what's the most useful application of water magic?" "To burst what's inside the leather sack and drag it out!" "Very well done!" Though technically classified as belonging to the mage category, the orphanage director — who used only liquid manipulation as her sole magic and had no interest whatsoever in magical research, and who happened to love red dresses — would wander about with her children in tow, and every enemy command post tent along her path would turn entirely into a pool of blood. Upon hearing the damage reports, the National Army was horrified that a single human could unleash this much power, but in fact, the upper echelons, Nathan included, were rather unmoved. "Right. This is exactly why, even back when that pathetic Emperor was in charge, no one could just casually touch the Empire." Centralized power is strong precisely because it can seize and wield the entirety of a nation's manpower and resources. But Mihail had neither the generosity to embrace the 6th Ranks nor the means to charm them, and so the 6th Ranks each led their own forces and maintained independent standing. Not the Empire's Magic Tower, but the Tower Master's Magic Tower. Not the Empire's Rangers, but the Divine Archer's disciples. Something along those lines. In a sense, they were power-wielding ministers and warlords even more formidable and influential than any provincial warlord. When an outside enemy, the Republic included, struck at the Empire, those who normally just trained themselves, pursued research, or indulged in hobbies would move to confront the outside threat. The 6th Rank individuals' combat power alone was already terrifying, but it also meant that, because they'd been half-independent from the Empire's system, forces that had been less affected by the Empire's corruption moved along with them as well. "But it's still not to the point where we can't win." The power of a 6th Rank and the group under them is terrifying. But even so, in terms of sheer numbers, no single group exceeded a few hundred people. Separate from the quality of their power, the influence they could exert on their surroundings was, in effect, limited. On top of that, it wasn't as though the Republic was entirely without strong individuals of its own. To begin with, the freedom and equality the Republic spoke of meant the denial of the class system, not the denial of differences in individual ability. There were, without question, those who had never seen the light under Cardian's stifling class hierarchy but finally saw it only after the Republic was established. Fewer in number than the Empire's, certainly, but even a smaller number has its own ways of being put to use. And yet, even so. "...This is ominous. Ominous. Tell everyone to hurry. Tell them to push the offensive forward even if it means overextending somewhat." Normally, devouring a nation of the Empire's insane weight class was a difficult task even if it took years. Charging ahead recklessly without looking back when not even a few months had passed since the war began was, under normal circumstances, a folly that should never be committed. His confidants would follow without question, but among some of the officers, there would surely be those who grew puzzled or harbored complaints. Even bearing all of that in mind, the Premier wanted a swift, decisive resolution. The Empire's Emperor could not be allowed any time. *** "Ugh, I'm dying. I'm seriously going to die. You know I got shot today? The enemies apparently don't even have the manners to know they shouldn't be violent toward a poor, pitiful Princess! How very sensible of them! Then again, what does imperial blood or being a princess or whatever even matter on a battlefield! If it's dangerous, you kill it!" "I see. How truly outrageous of them... hm?" The old swordsman Balduer von Lairenol, who had been about to agree with Trisha's words half out of reflex, blinked in confusion as the content turned strange partway through. It was a status ailment that those conversing with Trisha often ended up catching. He could not deny the words of an imperial family member — and a Crown Princess at that — yet he could not very well affirm them with, "Yes, if I were in their place, I would have killed Your Highness on sight had you been in enemy territory," either, and so his figure froze stiff; Trisha watched him with a sharp gaze beneath her smiling face. 'Hmm, he really is quite different from the person I knew.' The Empire's strongest swordsman. The Crown Prince's sword instructor. And a monster evaluated as the closest to Transcendence among the Empire's countless 6th Ranks. That was the Balduer Trisha knew. The last time she'd seen him, he'd been beaming brightly, saying that since he could now cut things that a sword couldn't normally cut — like fire or lightning — he supposed he ought to pursue cutting space itself next. But the Balduer of now gave off an impression of being far older and more haggard than the one Trisha remembered. Considering that, while a 6th Rank's lifespan does have its limits, their outward appearance generally stays close to their prime, it was probably largely a matter of the mind. Also, in contrast to how he himself had kept growing while teaching the Crown Prince, the current Balduer, though strong enough, fell short in many respects compared to the one Trisha had known. He had somehow been released after a long exile, but his feelings toward the new Emperor, who had killed the old Emperor and the entire imperial family, also seemed complicated. At this rate, Trisha's plan to drag him along at her side and make a name for herself had gone awry. She had proudly declared her intent to go to battle before her big brother — if her results turned out poor, wouldn't that be utterly humiliating? Trisha pondered for a moment. And then she spoke. "Sir Balduer." "I am not one deserving to be called 'Sir,' Your Highness." "Ah, never mind that. Would you happen to have any interest in raising a disciple who's insanely talented, pretty, and charming?" "Pardon?" His loyalty toward the imperial house was wavering, he had no sense of fulfillment in life for lack of a disciple, and his skill had grown questionable? Then wouldn't giving him a good disciple solve all of that? The girl — who, despite appearances, could proudly boast of being something like a budget-model Crown Prince (this is not a typo born of self-deprecation; Trisha genuinely considered it something to boast about) — puffed out her chest with pride.