Chapter 68
The Interferer (3)
“Huh?”
“My name is Noden Raglas, from the Kingdom of Raglas. The chamberlain said this was a match I absolutely couldn’t miss, so I came—and spotted a familiar face.”
“……Hello.”
Pretending to casually greet Retina, Noden sat down right next to her. Although their marriage talks were still a secret, he didn’t bother hiding his familiarity with her.
“Lady Retina, you even know His Highness the Prince?!”
“We’ve run into each other a few times at parties and exchanged greetings.”
“Just greetings? Now that’s disappointing.”
Looking hurt, Noden stared at her with a sorrowful gaze. The young ladies around them alternated glances between the two, eyes sparkling with curiosity.
“Come to think of it, at the debutante ball, weren’t you the one who asked the lady to dance right after His Highness the Crown Prince?”
“That’s right, that’s right. Your Highness, are you also interested in Lady Retina?”
“Haha, if I say I’m interested she might feel pressured, so let’s just say we’re good friends.”
“Kyaa! He said they’re good friends!!”
Basilious and Cecil clapped loudly, causing a small commotion. Noden didn’t bother to hide the subtle nuance in that statement. Retina stared at him with wide eyes—he was being far too obvious in front of everyone.
“Wait, then don’t tell me—you were the one at the masquerade ball?”
“I thought no one would recognize me because I hid my hair color with a wig, but you noticed.”
“With someone this tall and handsome, it’s not hard to guess!”
Isabel covered her mouth and laughed. She slapped Cecil’s arm in excitement, acting more thrilled than Retina herself.
“You’re Lady Isabel Drenia, right? Congratulations on your engagement.”
“Oh my! How did you know? Getting congratulations from the prince—what an honor!”
“Living in the capital means you hear things. Especially the story of Sir Adrian crying outside Pavilion while proposing to you—that one is famous.”
Isabel’s face turned beet red from embarrassment.
‘Isa, bel… hic, wail, sob, sniff, m-marry me… let’s get married… wahh… I can finally get married now… booohoo…’
Honestly, it had been embarrassing. Adrian cried like a child in the middle of the plaza while asking her to marry him. Even when she begged him to move somewhere people couldn’t see, he insisted he had to put the ring on her finger right there, frantically digging through his pockets for the ring case.
Absentmindedly, Isabel touched the ring on her left hand. Still… that was simply Adrian’s charm.
“I really admire you two. It looks like you’re in a truly wonderful relationship.”
Noden spoke sincerely, effortlessly chatting with the young ladies he’d only just met.
Retina, choosing to listen rather than join in, relaxed when she saw how quickly the young ladies warmed up to him despite his status as a prince. It seemed she didn’t have to worry about strange rumors arising between them.
—WAAAAAH!!
Their brief break ended in the blink of an eye. Loud cheers filled the entire arena as the next participants walked in.
Harold and Haynt entered as if used to the deafening applause. Stretching his crossed arms, Haynt rolled his neck and grinned wide enough to show all his teeth.
“It’s been a while since we fought in the semifinals.”
“Don’t you have nothing left to ask His Majesty for?”
“And what about His Highness the Crown Prince? What could be so important that you push your body this hard?”
Two knights approached, each carrying their swords. Haynt took his blade, swinging it a few times in the air. The familiar grip, the weight, the sensation of cutting through air—everything felt strangely good today.
“Must be because of this handkerchief.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I have a feeling I’ll beat you again today.”
Haynt proudly lifted his arm. On his wrist was the handkerchief Retina had tied on him that morning.
“Tch.”
Harold, acting indifferent, picked up his sword and deliberately rolled up his sleeve. A faded handkerchief was tied around his wrist as well.
“What? Isn’t that the handkerchief she tied on you before? That’s cheating! It shouldn’t count!”
“Since when was giving a handkerchief to a loved one heading into battle considered cheating? Its purpose hasn’t changed—carrying something precious from someone important into combat.”
Harold spoke leisurely, ignoring Haynt’s whining. The yellow chick embroidered on the handkerchief had turned white from scrubbing out the bloodstains, but it was still the one Retina gave him.
“It’s cheating either way. I win.”
Their blades clashed, and the two stepped back three paces. Haynt widened his stance, lowered his posture, and rested the heavy tip of his blade on the ground—his usual ready stance.
“Let’s see who’s right.”
Harold gripped his sword with both hands. As soon as both were fully prepared, the arena’s atmosphere shifted. They stared at the flag between them—then the moment it dropped, they kicked off the ground and charged.
Clang!
Their swords collided, then clashed three more times in rapid succession. Though the movements seemed wild and fast, every swing and block was intentional.
“A spectacular match. I’m glad I got to see them face each other.”
“I’ve never seen Brother Haynt struggle like this. Usually after swinging that much, the opponent’s guard breaks at least once.”
Retina leaned toward Noden, exchanging a few words. With the roaring crowd drowning their voices, they had to lean close just to hear each other.
“It seems the ladies are more interested in whose handkerchief His Highness is wearing than in the actual outcome.”
After scanning the area, Noden whispered to Retina. When Haynt appeared, no one cared about the handkerchief he wore. But when the crown prince’s handkerchief became visible, people began whispering and grouping together.
Retina, suddenly nervous, glanced down at the handkerchief clutched tightly in her hand through the entire match. One look was enough—she instantly recognized it as hers.
Her face twitched uncontrollably as she lowered her head.
“Didn’t His Highness wear the same handkerchief before? So it wasn’t from Lady Mari?”
“Then who gave it to him?”
Sharp-eyed spectators recognized it from before. As discussions dragged on, the handkerchief’s origin became a deeper mystery.
‘If they realize both handkerchiefs came from the same person, the rumors will explode.’
Hearing Helen’s story earlier, Retina had worried Harold might wear Helen’s handkerchief. But instead, it was the little chick-embroidered handkerchief she gave him during the preliminaries—the one she thought ruined by blood.
So how had he cleaned it so perfectly?
Retina turned toward the VIP section. Helen sat among excited young ladies asking if it was her handkerchief on the prince’s wrist. She forced an awkward smile, her trembling lip making her discomfort obvious.
“If this keeps up, Sir Haynt will win. His Highness’s right shoulder seems to be bothering him.”
At Noden’s quiet comment, Retina looked back at the arena. Harold caught a heavy downward strike with his arm braced along his sword. Clang! The sound was different this time. Because he blocked with his right arm—exactly the shoulder Noden mentioned—the shock traveled straight into it.
“I told him not to push himself… what if he gets hurt like that?”
Harold staggered, and Haynt immediately pressed his advantage. Swinging a blade twice as heavy as any ordinary one, he drove Harold back, step by step.
Retina could barely sit still. She wasn’t worried about her brother getting hurt—if Haynt broke a leg, he’d be running again in a month. She was afraid he might injure the crown prince.
Every time Harold blocked, he twisted his body left. It wasn’t habit—he was consciously avoiding using his right arm. And Haynt, noticing it, kept attacking that side.
“Sir Haynt is definitely superior when it comes to physical combat.”
“Of course. My brother thinks about nothing but training. Meanwhile, the crown prince has to build every kind of ability. It makes sense he’d fall behind.”
Every day, it was muscles! training! power! He lived by those three words. Anyone who invested all their stats into strength couldn’t beat a muscle-brained monster like him. That’s how he became the youngest vice-captain of the 2nd Knight Order, and he was even aiming to become the youngest captain.
Momentum completely shifted. Harold was losing the pushing match. He was one step away from being forced out of the arena—a definite loss.
And then—
“Huh…?”
Their positions switched.
