Chapter 3: The Only Heir

Right after witnessing the great calamity at the imperial capital, Kain collapsed, seized by a wave of vertigo and a pain that felt like his head was being torn apart.

Thud!

A full-grown man fell helplessly to the floor, making a dull sound and taking a heavy hit.

The floor was some kind of marble-like stone, but fortunately a thick, luxurious carpet cushioned him enough to avoid a fracture.

Perhaps it was the strain on his brain caused by the awakening of the original owner’s memories in this body, but a red trickle began to run from his nose, and the blood vessels in both eyes burst, turning them a raw, bloodshot red.

Then, a commotion broke out outside, and a voice called out to him.

“Your Highness! Are you unharmed?”

Maybe the sound of him falling had been louder than expected.

A guard stationed in the corridor hurriedly threw open the door and rushed in.

And most regrettably, the first sight that greeted the guard was a royal with bloodshot eyes and a nosebleed streaming down his face.

“Y-Your Highness!”

He had rushed in to help, thinking the prince had merely taken a fall and might need a hand up.

But because Kain had clumsily tried to wipe the blood away, half his face was smeared scarlet, and the guard lost his composure at the unexpected spectacle.

Fidgeting, he muttered about whether to fetch a cloth or a healer first, then frantically gestured to the soldiers who had followed him in.

And then—

Clank, clank!

From far down the corridor came the sound of iron-shod boots.

Kain understood at once.

Through the prologue sequence he had just watched, he knew the imperial bloodline had been massacred.

News of that must have reached Canossa Fortress, and now everyone would know that the Third Prince, Kain, was to inherit the throne.

But as those metallic steps drew nearer, and now armed with the prince’s memories, Kain coolly reconsidered his situation.

In the early story, the main theater of war was the North, and while Kain was a wastrel, he wasn’t a “villain” who stood in the protagonist’s way.

He had figured that if he just kept his head down, the protagonist, Veil, would prevent the apocalypse and save the continent.

Now the situation had changed. Veil Sunchaser, the playable main character of Empire Heroic Legend, had died so absurdly in the Grand Hall.

If he stayed meekly in exile, the world would end.

Even though the Felberg Empire treasured its royals and the main battleground of the base story lay in the North, once the true invasion of annihilation began, the whole continent would be thrown into chaos no matter the place.

To stop it now, it had to be Kain—no one else. He would have to monopolize every hidden piece and fortuitous encounter the original protagonist was meant to acquire. He alone knew where they all were, and he alone could obtain them.

It won’t be easy, but it isn’t impossible.

There was still time before chaos engulfed the continent. And though he had possessed a wastrel’s body, the soul within belonged to the developer who had created this game world.

He remembered every hidden gimmick and fortuitous chance that could give even a wastrel’s body personal combat power, and he knew multiple ways to shed the status of an exile.

The protagonist is dead. There is no protagonist anymore. I have to stop the end of this world.

The marching boots halted. Between the approaching knights, a familiar face called out to Kain. He recognized the man quickly from his memories.

Baron Heinrich Denver, the man who had always been by his side at Canossa Fortress.

A knight of excellent talent, currently at the level of Grand Chevalier, once considered a promising candidate to reach the realm of the Sword Saint—also known as the “Meister.”

But lacking in courtly scheming, he had fallen prey to noble infighting, lost his will to train, and chosen to become a ruffian knight on the frontier. A man of unfortunate fate.

Now he was regarded as little more than the captain of the Third Royal Escort, guarding the wastrel prince, Kain Felberg.

Yet even if his will had once faltered and his lifestyle had grown dissolute, his talent for the sword still shone, and his loyalty to the crown had never wavered.

In Kain’s memories, Baron Denver had been one of the few people with whom he could exchange jokes during the dreary exile—perhaps because both were seen as fellow wastrels.

“Your Highness.”

But today, the baron’s face was nothing like his usual playful self—his features were weighed down by shadow. Wearing a rigid expression and heavy eyes, he looked at Kain.

“Baron Denver. What’s the matter? If it’s about this blood, it’s nothing.”

Kain answered lightly, as if they were trading their usual jokes—as if he knew nothing about why the baron had come with armed men.

But he was certain. The moment had finally come.

“Can you tell me what has happened?”

At Kain’s request, Baron Denver exchanged a brief glance with a nearby guard, then turned back to the “wastrel” prince.

“A dispatch just arrived. It reports that all blood of the imperial line breathed their last at the Grand Hall in the capital. I do not know the details, but we received a military arcane transmission stating that Your Highness must ascend the throne. Therefore… until the succession rite, the Imperial Army is concentrating forces here to ensure Your Highness’s safety.”

Barely had Kain calmed his shock at the news of the royal family’s annihilation when a young sentry’s urgent cry rang out from the watchtower.

“From the south, at least eight hundred troops are advancing under the Imperial battle standard!”

Kain was the type to grow colder the more rapidly a situation changed.

His eyes settled to an even icier calm. He sprinted outside to assess the situation at once, Baron Heinrich Denver and the other knights swiftly following after him.

Once outside, Kain turned his gaze to Baron Denver—demanding an explanation without words. The baron spoke slowly, tense.

“They appear to be the Imperial escort detail assigned to bring Your Highness to the capital.”

It had been only moments since they’d received the ghastly news—of the Emperor and royals slain, and many loyalist nobles butchered in the Grand Hall. They had only just comprehended the situation.

And already the escort forces were here?

“They came from the capital to Canossa in less than a day?”

Canossa Fortress lay well to the south of Granada, the Felberg Empire’s capital. In this world, mass teleportation was impossible. Even if the palace had dispatched troops instantly, they could not have arrived already.

They might have contacted nearby loyalist nobles for protection, but even so, the timing was suspiciously precise.

We’ll need to identify friend from foe.

Kain asked, “Their banners—have you identified the sigil?”

“Yes, we have. The standard bears the crest of Count Paul Ellang.”

Count Paul Ellang. At that name, Kain’s expression cooled. Ellang was nominally “neutral,” but habitually walked a dangerous tightrope between the loyalists and the ducal faction known as the Empire’s Five Pillars.

And though he rarely showed his hand, he leaned a touch more favorably toward the Five Pillars.

Little known to the public, the Five Pillars sheltered his illegitimate child. Would such a man really rush to escort the last surviving royal? With such a conveniently swift reaction, at that?

Kain quietly rejected the notion and began explaining to Baron Denver.

“He’s sided with the Five Pillars. Prepare for battle.”

At Kain’s sharp assessment, Baron Denver’s face hardened to stone. He too had felt the wrongness in Ellang’s uncanny arrival time.

The moment the Third Prince declared it, the baron grasped the count’s ploy.

Baron Denver called for his men.

“Schweissen! Rodolfo!”

At his urgent summons, two burly knights nearby dashed over. The instant they bowed, the baron issued orders.

“Uninvited guests are upon us. Sound the alarm within the keep. All members of the escort are to assume full battle readiness.”

The two Chevalier-rank knights offered a crisp military salute instead of words, then relayed muster orders to the Third Escort’s knights and mages within the fortress.

“An unidentified armed force is closing the distance to Canossa Fortress! Knights! Mount the walls and hold your stations like a mountain!”

After the defense captain’s shout echoed through the keep, heavily armored knights and soldiers, along with robed mages, climbed to the ramparts.

The fortress garrison took the front of the defensive line, and the Third Royal Escort under Baron Heinrich Denver mustered in the second rank.

The Third Escort assigned to guard Kain in exile numbered about a hundred. That might sound like a lot, but over half were soldiers, not knights.

The Canossa garrison wasn’t large either. Even combined, the escort and garrison totaled fewer than five hundred.

That was natural. Though used as a place of exile, Canossa Fortress still lay within the Felberg Empire’s borders. From the outset, no one had considered it would ever be attacked by a large army. Hence the thin standing force.

Once these measures were in place, Baron Denver spoke.

“Your Highness. Please, take shelter inside first.”

Given the circumstances, the target was clearly the last surviving heir—Kain. Even if they repelled the enemy, nothing would matter if something happened to him.

“Baron Denver. Return alive.”

Fortunately for the baron, Kain was not a sentimental man. 

He had a clear grasp of the present situation. 

Unlike the other royals, the Third Prince Kain Felberg had neither trained his body nor developed his magic circle; he had lived as a wastrel. 

As he was now, he was practically a powerless commoner—of no help in battle. 

Stepping onto the field would only be a hindrance, and would make him the enemy’s top priority, burdening his allies further. 

Making a swift judgment, Kain followed Baron Denver’s counsel and withdrew to the rear.