Chapter 72: Taking It Seriously Means You Lose

“This…” The youth opened and closed his mouth a few times, like a fish out of water, but in the end, he could only utter a single-syllable word.

In truth, Constantine himself was half against this marriage alliance as well. The problem was, did something like this depend on just him, or a few individuals, to decide?

A political marriage was called a political marriage because the key lay in the word “politics.” And the foundation of politics was nothing more than the distribution of benefits. The King was pushing it forcefully to gain certain advantages from the Griffin. But the Connallyvis Family had not opposed it so far either, indicating they had their own considerations of benefit. Under the entanglement of two such massive interests—national interest and family interest—even if a few people raised objections, what then? The likelihood of it ending in tragedy was simply too great.

Yet, the person who brought up this suggestion was none other than Anastasia Galanord Leifur.

This Princess… oh, according to common parlance, she should probably be called the Crown Princess or something similar. But she was undoubtedly a legendary figure of Phoenix!

She was not only the Princess of the nation but also a member of the Royal Golden Guard Knights. From a young age, her extraordinary martial prowess, along with her beauty, had been praised as gloriously by countless people. If you thought this was just flatterers coating Her Highness the Princess with a shiny exterior, then you would be wrong… She had once defeated dozens of regular knights unscathed in a single battle, once challenged a monster like the Multi-headed Hydra, and even secretly entered the Northern Border battlefield, harvesting Barbarian heads and honors in actual combat!

And the most legendary aspect of this woman was her marriage…

It was said that just as the entire Empire was speculating which noble could win the heart of this most beautiful Princess, she married an unknown lucky man—a beautiful story sung by Bards! The Princess met her beloved during one of her adventures, said to be an incredibly formidable Mercenary.

Of course, like the plots in all romance novels, this marriage did not receive the elders’ blessings. Ralphe XIII never consented to this happy union. He obstructed it in every way, even ordering his lackeys to harm his own cheap son-in-law! But alas, love… had always been praised by the Deities! Even the authority of the throne could not shake it! The two eventually vanished without a trace from the heavily guarded Falkens Palace on the eve of a storm. The specific details had long been blurred by the Bards’ songs and various rumors, but regardless, they finally gained their freedom. Their love was celebrated across the entire Western Continent.

It’s just that we know beautiful things often do not last…

They traveled together for nearly three years and during that time, had a child born of their love—Constantine’s future wife. Unfortunately, this happy story did not ultimately have a beautiful ending. Perhaps to afford the child’s milk money, the father took on too many jobs. In an unforeseen adventure, that Mercenary ultimately lost his life, which was almost the shared fate of all Mercenaries—unless they permanently left the profession, they could never come to a good end.

Though the story’s ending was not beautiful, it was still somewhat warm. After all, a father was a father; the bond of blood was incomparable. His Majesty the Emperor eventually brought back his daughter who had fallen on hard times and declared the newborn girl a Princess.

Of course, all of this was unverified rumor. And to Constantine, accustomed to conspiracy theories, he could picture an even more tragic process—for instance, the King’s lackeys finally succeeded, the poor Mercenary died, and the Princess was forcibly brought back…

It seemed somewhat distant… But regardless, with such legendary experiences, the seemingly absurd words spoken by this Crown Princess added a full measure of persuasiveness and a five or six out of ten chance of certainty.

Should he elope and then wander the world? For a moment, the youth hesitated.

This suggestion was actually quite attractive… The benefits that his current status as the Duke’s legitimate eldest son could bring seemed somewhat less tempting than the allure of freedom now… However… reason ultimately made Constantine shake his head slightly. Evading the pursuit of an entire Empire was no easy or pleasant deal… A refugee-like existence could hardly be called living freely, and his current strength was completely insufficient to handle all of this…

“Apologies, Your Highness the Princess. Up to now, my thoughts have not changed… I should say they ‘cannot’ change. But in every aspect, I hope this issue finds a perfect resolution.” Constantine raised an eyebrow. He had basically figured out his answer by now—currently, whether it was His Majesty the King or the Princess before him, their respective stances would not easily change. And caught in between, all he could do was not lean toward either side… Moreover, the Princess was truly not a good negotiator. She seemed not to understand that to get the other party to agree to her conditions, one must offer some price.

This response was not particularly clever, but Constantine also needed to use such a reply to test the other party’s bottom line… After all, the King was determined to make this marriage succeed no matter what, especially after he had contributed a major invention like the Airship. And the Princess before him likely was just as determined to prevent the marriage from succeeding, regardless of his answer.

“Fine, I probably already know your thoughts…”

However, this ambiguous and somewhat probing reply did not seem to reach the other party—tidying another budding flower and inserting it into the vase, the Princess interrupted Constantine’s response. She spoke in an equally relaxed tone: “You don’t need to answer me hastily. After all, this is a significant matter. Likewise, I cannot promise you anything for now…”

“Carly, take Viscount Constantine back…” Before the puzzled youth could sort out his thoughts, the guiding court lady appeared at the door. She gracefully made a gesture of invitation, ending this brief conversation.

“A hypocritical and cunning brat… Was he trying to say he personally agrees with me but is pressured?” Pushing aside the completed flower arrangement, Princess Anastasia stood up, speaking as if to herself.

But this soliloquy received a response. In the spacious and silent room, a low voice that unmistakably belonged to a man rang out: “His reply was quite perfect… After all, the Nobles’ attitude toward marriage alliances is usually just to maintain a relationship… These times are very realistic; one cannot survive on poetry and fantasy…”

“I don’t deny this is reality, but there must be limits to everything! The old man’s decision is simply too childish. My children might not escape the fate of political marriages in the future, but I absolutely cannot accept them being traded like commodities! Moreover, Miya is only thirteen now. I don’t want to marry her off for such a foolish reason to a… a…” The Princess’s volume had already exceeded the range suitable for ladies or gentlewomen. Perhaps unable to find suitable words to describe that odd youth just now, she threw the scissors in her hand with a snap, letting the not-so-sharp utensil embed itself with a thud deep into the small table.

“So you went to ‘consult’ a thirteen-year-old brat’s opinion? What do you want to do? Stage another elopement drama?” The voice in the Darkness was not agitated, even carrying a somewhat teasing tone: “Why do you think your old man hastily arranged this marriage? Besides the timing being right, he is probably also afraid Miya will enter that troublesome rebellious phase?”

“So? You’re taking the side of this inexplicable little fellow? Or are you satisfied with the ‘wisdom’ he showed inventing the Airship? Or perhaps the ‘valor’ he displayed during that riot moved you?” The Princess sneered: “If he were truly smart and brave enough, he should have voiced his own thoughts just now.”

The hidden voice fell silent, not answering this question.

“There’s nothing more to say about this matter. Unless it is Miya’s own request, I will not make the slightest concession on this!” the Princess said resolutely. Then, she returned to the table and suddenly spoke leisurely: “But perhaps he will change his mind in a while.”

“You know perfectly well she couldn’t possibly make such a request…” the man’s voice sighed. Then he seemed to remember something: “You’re not planning to play some childish trick again, are you?”

…

Following behind the court lady, Constantine passed through a section of corridor. The architecture of Falkens Palace, designed meticulously by several generations of masters, achieved a true sense of a scenic view with every step. However, the youth, troubled by the Princess’s attitude, was in no mood to appreciate the charming late autumn scenery around him until a small burst of noise pulled him from his thoughts.

This seemed to be a small garden, but no trees or ornamental plants were planted—just a lawn. The weather of the Month of Decaying Leaves had dyed the grass a lovely deep yellow. However, the small crowd standing there seemed somewhat disruptive to the surroundings.

Constantine frowned. He noticed the group consisted of both males and females, but without exception, they were all quite young, the oldest not exceeding sixteen. Yet, the family crests on their bodies were colorful and spectacular—although his heraldry studies were not excellent, the youth’s good eyesight allowed him to immediately notice the fiery red feathers on several crests’ backgrounds… The Phoenix Firebird was the symbol of the Empire, and its extension was countless such feathers. Families possessing fire feathers might not be large, but it signified that a certain generation of their family had a kinship relation with the royal family.

In short, they were royalty and nobility.

Seeing such a group appear anywhere in the palace at any time was not unusual. But at this moment, appearing before him in a crowd, this posture was somewhat debatable… especially since they seemed to be blocking his path.

“Viscount Constantine di Friedrich Connarivis, I hereby challenge you to a duel!”

Before Constantine could voice any questions, one individual stepped forward from the crowd and shouted loudly. The resounding voice echoed between the palace walls and rooftops, momentarily giving Constantine the illusion of enjoying a tenor performance. “If you are still a member of the noble Connellyvis Family, then please take up your weapon and accept my challenge.”

“A duel? Has this fellow’s mind gone wrong? Or is this the popular act in Falkens Palace this year?” The youth was stunned, then involuntarily looked down at the black Robe of Magic he wore. He had encountered many strange things recently, but this one clearly did not seem like a prank—this Plane didn’t have that sort of thing yet.

The fellow wore only a simple formal attire, but the sword he had drawn was a fine piece—Constantine’s eyes flashed purple, catching some colored sheen on it. Compared to that, however, this guy’s intelligence seemed somewhat debatable, which might be deduced from his flat, sturdy face… especially that nearly eyebrow-less high brow ridge and somewhat low, flat nose gave him a standard look of low intelligence.

“Viscount Constantine di Friedrich Connarivis, I hereby challenge you to a duel! If you are still a noble…” Seeing Constantine did not respond, the gentleman repeated his words. But this time, before he could finish, he was interrupted.

“Sorry, I refuse this duel.” Constantine smiled. Though inclined to respect strength, he had no reason to accept such a baffling duel challenge. “Esteemed sir, to my knowledge, a duel requires a reason… but I don’t believe I know you.”

“You don’t need to know him… because he is fighting on my behalf.” As soon as Constantine’s words fell, a somewhat familiar voice rang out.

The youth was stunned, then his gaze caught a familiar face in the crowd that could only be described as exquisite… sapphire blue eyes, long eyelashes fluttering slightly, flawless fair skin with a faint pink glow, thin lips as tender and tempting as cherry blossom petals, combined with a lightly pursed expression, looking utterly pure and touching.

Constantine suddenly felt a headache coming on… His memory had always been excellent, and this face was memorable enough to stick with him for a long time, especially after what the other party said last time they met: “…and you had better pray you never appear before me again… because, if I see you again, I will definitely kill you! Definitely!”

“So it’s you… last time was too rushed, I didn’t have the chance to ask for your name?” A slight smile touched the youth’s lips. He bowed gracefully: “Moreover, you seem to have mistaken something. I am a Spellcaster, therefore I do not need to accept duel invitations from ordinary people.”

“Then, you have no reason to refuse now, right?”

Constantine’s question received no answer, only a Parchment scroll flying through the air, landing right before the youth. It unrolled with a rustle. When his eyes turned to it, Constantine’s expression changed slightly.

The beautiful cursive script on the fine Parchment comprised only a few lines, seeming somewhat wasteful, but that wasn’t the point… The point was the content represented by those characters—it was a duel declaration. And even more extraordinary was the signature in the lower right corner.

Godfrey Gordon Ralphe VII!

In the Empire, anyone with a Knight title could freely issue duel invitations; it was legal and encouraged. The only exception was challenging a Spellcaster—once discovered, they would have their officially recognized certificate and emblem revoked. But there were always exceptions—since the decree was issued by His Majesty the Emperor, he naturally had the right to change it. As long as one obtained the handwritten permission of the Supreme Emperor… a Knight could also challenge a Spellcaster, provided it did not endanger life; otherwise, the same penalty applied.

Constantine’s eye twitched. The eyes meeting his were as beautiful and clear as water, full of Confidence. But somehow, he felt some anger beginning to build within him—in fact, the young Sorcerer, having just realized his situation had become more complicated, was already somewhat irritated. And just at such a time, this character popped up from who-knows-where.

“Alright then… let the duel begin… but I must declare, I am a Spellcaster; I fight with intellect. Therefore…” The youth took a few steps forward… Facing the fellow who was almost a head taller, he slowly spoke in a loud voice.

“Do you expect me to let you finish an incantation?” The hired fighter let out a cold laugh, but halfway through his words, Constantine before him suddenly thrust out a fist!

The youth’s hand was not large, but with the arm strength cultivated since childhood, such a punch was not light… His fist formation and striking position were precisely chosen… index and middle fingers slightly protruding, thumb locking the lower edge—the technique of the so-called small fist, the dragon-head fist, directly striking the lower end of the ribs, the soft and poorly defended abdomen…

A diaphragmatic strike. In an instant, the unlucky substitute fighter felt as if time around him had completely stopped, all air in his lungs forcibly squeezed out. He bent over, mouth wide open, but could not draw a single breath into his lungs. Then, a heavy impact spread across his chin, and his body fell backward with the force!

“Therefore, since the duel has been declared started, remember to take defensive measures!” Slowly lowering his raised fist, the smile at his lips remained gentle and refined. Constantine raised his head, scanning the surroundings with a low laugh.

This display caused the group of youths to erupt in uproar! The little girl who was clearly the leader, her fair face instantly flushed red: “You despicable…”

“I warned him… So, that’s it…” Wearing an innocent expression, Constantine looked into those eyes brimming with anger. The frustration caused by the Princess inexplicably dissipated quite a bit. “Everyone, the duel is over, and I have generously chosen to spare this… uh, this Knight’s life. So may I leave now?”

“Halt!” The smile on the youth’s lips was undoubtedly a strong stimulant. Thus, as soon as his words fell, a sharp Foil cut through the air!

Sigh… The little Princess finally makes her appearance… It doesn’t seem very satisfactory… This time, the troublemaker is a fool being used as a pawn. It shouldn’t involve any family political issues, right…