“The eldest son, Litton Stroke, is in a state beyond recovery.
Having judged that he can no longer fulfill the duties of heir, I hereby designate the third son, Ridle Stroke, as the legitimate successor to the principality.”
A declaration no one had anticipated.
The gathered crowd instantly erupted into murmurs.
“The third prince is the heir?”
“Then what happens to Prince Aiden? He even possesses the Seal of Struggle… I wonder what Lord Ebel’s intentions are.”
As if he had heard the noble’s muttered words, Ebel—who stood on the dais beside Foden—stepped forward and declared,
“I, Ebel Stroke, commander of the Reperta border region and one of the Continent’s Twelve Heroes, volunteer to be Ridle Stroke’s guardian.
I formally declare here and now that I will support him as the next Grand Duke.”
Hearing that resonant voice, the nobles fell into even greater shock.
Ebel Stroke of the heavy sword had handed the Seal of Struggle to Aiden.
He had therefore been considered certain to back Aiden as the next Grand Duke.
That had been one of the main reasons the nobles had settled on Aiden as heir.
A few sharper minds began to speculate.
It seems he’s mindful of the fairies’ influence.
Did something secretly pass between the second prince and the fairies during that last meeting? And if His Highness the Grand Duke is wary of that…
The visit from the Arielldi family had been conducted in secret, but several nobles with excellent intelligence networks knew of it.
Lesser nobles like Claude, however, had been frantically trying to curry favor with Aiden without the slightest clue.
In truth, the strained relationship with the fairies did influence the decision to some degree.
But it was by no means the core reason.
Not even in their wildest dreams would these power-obsessed nobles imagine that Aiden himself had desperately worked behind the scenes to remove himself from the line of succession.
From branch members of the Stroke family holding key posts across the principality to retired elders who spent their days watching grandchildren play, everyone had gathered for this meeting.
Since they were all people I was seeing for the first time since possession, I had to greet each one while listening to Linia’s explanations through my “external hard drive.”
The lineup was certainly interesting, but the meeting itself was pointless.
With Foden and Ebel of one mind, the outcome had already been decided.
The retainers seemed greatly shocked by the announced result, yet I—who stood at the very center of the storm—took a step back from the chaotic atmosphere and simply observed Ridle, the newly designated heir.
“………”
His pupils were trembling violently, as if an earthquake had struck.
Even for a thirteen-year-old, he had always been remarkably calm.
He clearly hadn’t been told in advance; anyone would panic facing such a shocking event.
I approached him and said,
“You heard, right? Since Eldest Prince Litton is bedridden and groaning, from now on you’ll have to step forward as heir.”
“…Brother Aiden.”
“It’s a decision the family elders reached after deep consideration. I have no particular objection to you being named heir.”
“Pardon my rudeness… but far from objecting, you seem almost pleased. Am I wrong?”
This kid is sharp.
Of course I wouldn’t be displeased unless I’d lost my mind.
To me, the position of heir to the principality was nothing but baggage.
Fortunately for the Stroke family, Ridle becoming heir was not a bad flow even when considering the future.
I know nothing about the duties of a Grand Duke and have no desire to be taught them through successor training.
In contrast, Ridle’s qualities had already been proven in the original story.
Just the fact that he was the only sibling who never looked down on the fat wastrel Aiden told me his character was decent enough.
Of course, in the original history he was a Part 1 villain.
But his conflict with the protagonist’s party had been trivial; he wasn’t a bad person.
He just had a slight obsession with collecting.
The reason Ridle clashed with the protagonist’s party in the original was simple: he recognized that the ego sword “Flamberge” carried by Epio was no ordinary blade.
Blinded by greed, he tried every means to seize it and ended up ruined and properly disciplined.
That was roughly the storyline for the Stroke family arc.
On top of that, our very own Linia—who had been seeking revenge against the Strokes—poured oil on the fire, dealing massive damage to the principality.
As an event that happened relatively early in the novel, the Stroke family’s influence on the overall narrative of Reca Chronicles was minor.
There was a reason the related MacGuffin was numbered in the 900s.
Since I planned to personally recruit the protagonist Epio and run him all the way to the Demon King raid party, there was no need to worry about the original tragedy repeating itself.
Until the force I would build properly took root, I wanted the Stroke principality to remain a solid backing for this body.
…Still, maybe I should give him a word of caution just in case.
“Ahem. I hear you’re quite interested in collecting famous swords, Ridle.”
“That is true…”
“As a martial artist honing your swordsmanship, you might see sword-collecting as desirable, but I disagree.
A warrior’s essence lies in the innate ability one possesses.
Instead of spending time collecting fine equipment, I recommend devoting yourself more to sword training.”
Pure bullshit, obviously.
Ultimately, raw level matters most, but item power is nothing to scoff at either.
I, who know better than anyone about the broken equipment existing in this world, am fully aware of how absurd the words I just spouted are.
Yet seeing Ridle’s eyes sparkle, it seemed my single throwaway line had struck deep.
“Brother, you have seen right through the demon in my heart.
Truly, the title ‘genius of the sword’ is no empty praise. You possess extraordinary insight.”
“Demon in your heart?”
“…Yes.”
Watching Ridle’s expression harden, I sensed something unusual.
But I didn’t show it and simply said,
“Tell me in detail. I might be able to help.”
After a brief hesitation, Ridle opened his mouth.
“Great-uncle has placed great expectations on me since long ago. But as you know, my talent falls far short of his. At some point the thought ‘if my own strength is lacking, I should at least borrow the power of fine weapons’ turned into an obsession with collecting. Hearing your words and reflecting, I now realize that path was indeed wrong.”
[MacGuffin No.897 / Heavy Shoulders recovered.]
[Achievement points +30]
So this counts as a MacGuffin too.
In the original, Ridle did suffer from something resembling stress-induced mental illness.
Since he wasn’t a particularly major character, most readers (myself included) skimmed past it, thinking he’d simply cracked under the pressure of ruling.
I never imagined there was this kind of backstory.
By setting, Ridle’s potential level is 41.
Even at his limit, he would only rank at the very bottom among the so-called “quasi-Twelve Heroes.”
He also doesn’t possess an overwhelming trait like Sotiro’s 『Dual Demon-Wheel Heart (S)』 that could bridge such a gap.
He must have vaguely sensed that ceiling himself, so feeling burdened by Ebel’s expectations was only natural.
“Good. Don’t carry that weight—forge your own martial path.
Then the way will open.”
“Yes. Thank you, brother.”
Those sparkling eyes feel burdensome.
Somehow a single careless remark has ended up changing a person’s life.
Well, whatever.
It doesn’t feel bad.
One week after Ridle was named heir to the principality.
News of the death of Litton Stroke, eldest son of the Grand Ducal House of Stroke, spread throughout the principality and kingdom.
From the very beginning after possession, the guy had pointlessly blocked my path and caused intense irritation, but he wasn’t evil to the bone.
Thinking that I would never again see that infuriating face, whether I liked it or not, left a slightly bitter taste.
Of course, I still have a long road ahead.
I have no time to mourn every single thing.
Around the time of Litton’s death, I had more or less finished preparations to leave the mansion.
I had received implicit permission from Foden to leave the family, so there was nothing left holding me back.
However… before departing the principality, one final matter remained.
A very important matter that could greatly affect my future plans.
“Linia. Bring Chesa.”
“Yes, Young Master. If it’s not rude to ask, what is the business?”
“I’m going to meet that fellow Claude. It’s important, so not only you but Chesa—who will be with us from now on—will accompany me.”
“Y-You mean Young Lord Claude of Count Levish? But you already cleared the debt last time…”
Linia’s face stiffened.
Claude was well-versed in pleasure districts, so I understood why she was anxious.
This half-elf young lady had raised Aiden since he was a baby; she was practically his foster mother.
And judging by her behavior, this young foster mother genuinely wished for things to go well between the very proper bride-to-be—Chesa—and me.
My connection with Claude Levish was a remnant of the unsightly fat wastrel Aiden, and Linia clearly didn’t want Chesa to see those traces.
I chuckled and said,
“Unlike what you’re thinking, it’s perfectly upright business, so don’t worry.
I’ve already informed His Highness the Grand Duke that we’ll be taking the carriage in one hour. Hurry and bring her.”
“Understood.”
Linia reluctantly left the room.
Not long after, the carriage carrying the three of us departed Rykrol.
It didn’t take long to reach the Licht territory governed by the Levish count family.
“…My greetings. On behalf of the Levish count family, I offer my condolences for the passing of the legitimate heir to the principality, Litton Stroke.”
Having heard the funeral news, Claude offered formal condolences while giving me a visibly sour look.
I smirked.
Times like this call for a face of steel.
“I did try various things at the meeting, but ‘unfortunately’ I ended up eliminated from the succession, so I can’t grant your request. Really sorry about that.”
“N-No, not at all.”
Like hell it’s not.
His face was visibly dejected.
Claude shut his eyes tight and said,
“I apologize, but I have urgent personal business today, so I’m afraid I cannot guide you to the usual establishments as promised. Then, if you’ll excuse me…”
“You seem to have forgotten one thing.
The heir may be Ridle, but the Seal of Struggle—which can borrow Great-uncle’s authority—remains in my hands.
That means I can exert influence over the principality any time I wish.”
“Hm…!”
This was no lie.
Before long, when Foden falls ill and Ridle ascends, I could interfere in internal affairs during the unstable transition of power.
With a few pieces of future knowledge, I could even reduce Ridle to a puppet and seize real authority myself.
But for various reasons and limitations, that was less efficient than building a clan, so I had deliberately avoided considering it.
Sensing instinctively that my words were not empty, cold sweat poured down his face.
Moments later, as if his earlier cold attitude had been a lie, he forced an obsequious smile.
“H-Haha… Now that I think about it, that urgent business can wait.
I can guide you through the pleasure districts as much as you like. But… is the lady coming too?”
Claude looked at Chesa—who had been dragged onto the carriage without knowing why—with obvious difficulty.
The places weren’t exactly suitable for bringing a noblewoman.
Still not grasping the situation, Chesa wore an uncharacteristically shocked expression and asked,
“…Pleasure districts? Aiden, you had that kind of hobby?”
“N-No, my lady! Our young master is a completely pure and innocent boy!
All those rumors about gambling and womanizing are nothing but baseless lies spread by Prince Litton!”
“I-Is that so?”
Linia frantically jumped in to cover for me.
Recently the wastrel reputation had died down, and even the knights all showed me favor, so Chesa still didn’t know the full extent of Aiden’s past misdeeds.
Linia worked hard to bury the sins of that fat wastrel.
There was probably no need to further sully Litton’s name now that he was in his grave, though.
Sensing the delicate atmosphere, Claude wisely shut his mouth.
I spoke to him.
“I appreciate the sentiment, but I didn’t come to Licht to play.
There’s one shop among the pleasure districts I need you to find.”
“A specific shop?”
“Yes. I’m looking for a ‘sword without a blade’ left behind by a man once called ‘Lesha.’
It would be helpful if you inquired among the district owners in those terms.”
Claude accepted my request with a puzzled expression.
Three days later.
Claude relayed the name of a shop to me.
And if my guess was correct.
That place would be where I could recover the MacGuffin related to the swordsman once called “Thousand-Man Slayer,” Regenshauer Krantz.