MLWP 9

Chapter 9

“Who’s the pervert…!”

Come to think of it, she didn’t really have anything to say for herself.

The ominous presence she’d felt—something like a monster—hadn’t come from this man, but from his sword.
And grabbing a man’s wrist while invading his space? That was bad manners, plain and simple.

“……”

Yes, apologizing first was definitely the right thing to do.

“I’m sorry.”

The man asked in a cool, almost teasing voice,

“You’re not a pervert, right? I hadn’t heard there was a magician like you in Diaman.”

He must’ve noticed the magical circuit mark glowing faintly on her hand. Silia shook her head.

“No, I’m not. But…”

“But what?”

“May I take a look at that sword?”

“In this situation?”

His incredulous tone said it all.

‘Guess not.’

But she couldn’t just ignore the aura she’d sensed.

“You’re the one carrying a sword despite not being part of House Diaman. And from the look of it, that’s a real blade, not a decoration. You should know that only the guards or the Diaman heirs are permitted to carry live steel inside the mansion.”

“I’m an exception.”

“And I’m supposed to just take your word for it? I need to see that sword.”

“…You really want to see it that badly?”

Unexpectedly, the man held the sword out to her without protest.

She blinked—he’d given in much more easily than expected.

“It’s a fine sword, isn’t it?”

“Pardon?”

“It doesn’t come out easily, but even the sheath and hilt alone are works of art. And it’s a special weapon—practically invincible against certain targets…”

Ah. That type.

She’d met plenty like him before—the sort of man who’d start explaining legendary weapons or magic systems unprompted, or brag about rare horse breeds, or show off his weird leaf collection mid-battle.

“The thing about this sword is—”

“Stop.”

The last thing she wanted was to hear that kind of talk all night. Without thinking, Silia reached out and grabbed the hilt.

Shrring—

“It’s coming out.”

“What?!”

It even slid out smoothly.

“It really is a nice sword.”

But something about it felt familiar.

This…

Clang.

A broken blade slid out—only half of it remained, the top part missing. A white sword.

The same kind that had pierced through her chest—

“How did you draw that?!”

“Excuse me?”

Before she could even think, the man stepped toward her in agitation. His excitement startled her body into a defensive stance. Her magic surged instinctively, and a red glow flared along the broken blade. The man’s eyes widened even more. He looked… thrilled.

Thrilled? Why?

He was the one who’d backed away earlier, asking if she was some kind of pervert—and now he was the excited one?

‘Wait, is he the pervert here?’

If he tried anything, she’d just knock him out and toss him out of the greenhouse. The tip of her sword almost touched his chest when—

“Stand back!”

Whoosh—

Two figures burst through the dense foliage, interposing themselves between Silia and the man. Both wore black robes.

“Forgive us. We couldn’t stand by any longer,” said the bulkier one.

“I also apologize. I failed to stop him when he got worked up,” added the slimmer, faster-looking one.

“Enough,” the man said curtly.

“We don’t know what noble house you’re from, but drop the sword and step away. You’ve already laid hands on someone precious.”

“I said it’s fine.”

‘Someone precious?’

Still confused, Silia obediently lowered her sword. The man did look like someone from a noble house—but that important? Either way, she had no desire to start a bloodbath here.

The bulky one turned to the blond man.

“Are you unharmed, Lord Crondel? O Star of Ahaim.”

The Star of Ahaim.

Even Silia knew that title—it was an old honorific used for princes and princesses of the Ahaim Kingdom.

Then this man…

“…So, Your Highness, you sneak into other families’ greenhouses now?”

“How dare you—!”

“It’s fine,” Crondel said calmly. “This is my domain. Count Diaman granted me this greenhouse.”

“Your Highness! You should be angry!”

‘He’s a prince? Doesn’t seem all that sharp for one.’

And he was blond. The royal family of Ahaim was famous for their black hair. Even the crown princess Silia had once glimpsed from afar had dark hair. A blond royal?

Then a memory surfaced.

From her previous life—on the battlefield. After a long day’s fight, the soldiers had relaxed over drinks and gossip.

“His Majesty’s something else for his age—heard his health’s failing, too.”
“Right? And rumors say he’s fathered over ten children, legitimate and not.”
“Then they’re all black-haired, huh? Easy paternity test.”
“There’s one who isn’t.”
“You mean the Second Prince?”
“Yeah, heard he even fought in the war.”
“What was his name again…”

Crondel Ahaim.

The moment his name came to mind, so did another memory—of her final battle. A golden-haired man plummeting through the sky, impaled by Ilrod’s sword, clinging to the back of a flying beast. Someone she couldn’t reach to save.

‘So that’s him.’

She couldn’t be certain, but it felt right. And if House Diaman had been trying to build ties with the royal family, it made sense that he was here.

Then the realization struck.

‘I just grabbed a prince’s wrist and nearly attacked him.’

A terrifying offense—treason, in older times. A few centuries ago, that alone would’ve cost her her head.

Silia glanced discreetly at Crondel.

“……”

The Second Prince was rumored to be the king’s illegitimate son. Officially recognized, yes, but still whispered not to be of royal blood. People said he’d been forced onto the battlefield because he wasn’t favored. Who knew what was true? The current king’s affairs were no secret, after all.

All his children had different mothers; Crondel’s was said to be a commoner.

The bulky guard’s glare snapped her out of thought. Silia stepped back.

“My apologies.”

“You should apologize! How dare you touch the Star of Ahaim—”

“I said enough. Leave us.”

“It’s dangerous!”

“I’ll decide that.”

Crondel strode toward her and picked up the sword she’d set down.

“How did you do it?”

His gaze burned with intensity. Silia answered dryly,

“I just pulled it out.”

“Speak comfortably. Let others wonder whether I’m a prince or just some idle noble.”

Ah. So he wanted to keep his identity hidden.

“You mean, if people happen to see you, you don’t want them to realize you’re a prince?”

“Exactly.”

So he was hiding his royal status. That fit what she remembered—his background had been a mystery until the war.

‘Alright then. If that’s what he wants.’

Crondel’s eyes gleamed.

“That sword doesn’t come out easily. Only one who’s recognized by the blade can draw it.”

He leaned close, voice low enough that even his guards couldn’t hear.

“Ferriot can only be drawn by one it chooses.”

“…I knew it.”

Ferriot—the legendary sword. Ilrod’s sword. The memory flashed again—Ilrod thrusting the broken Ferriot into his own chest.

‘No wonder it felt familiar.’

And painful. She couldn’t hide the emotion in her face as she looked at the blade, which trembled faintly in her grasp.

‘Swords don’t shake by themselves… right?’

Maybe it was her own hands trembling. She steadied her breath and asked,

“It really is Ferriot? You’re not bluffing?”

She’d spoken rudely on purpose, but Crondel only looked delighted.

“So you know the name. Hardly anyone does these days. Yes, I’m sure. I took it myself from the royal treasury not long ago.”

“…Are you insane?”

He stole from the royal vault? Bold didn’t even begin to cover it. She’d expected a brooding, melancholy prince, not this.

‘Then again… I kind of like that.’

At least he had initiative. Better than those nobles who sent servants to fight in their place.

Still, what was she supposed to do with this sword? It might be the clue she needed—to what had happened in her past life, why she’d returned to age seventeen, and what truly happened with Ilrod.

Then—

“If you can recognize and wield a magical artifact like that, your mana circuit must be exceptional,” Crondel said suddenly.

“…Huh?”

He’d completely changed the subject.

“I have a proposal.”

“What are you planning, Your Highness? Please, tell us too!” cried one of the guards.

Crondel sighed, turned, and looked back at the bulky one—and at the slimmer one, who gave his comrade a pitying look.

“You two. Leave. Now.”

“He said go,” muttered the slimmer one, dragging the reluctant bulky guard away.

Their absence was a relief—but honestly, Silia was thinking the same thing they had:

‘A proposal? From a prince? To me?’

Whatever it was, it sounded like trouble.

“I won’t ask for anything unreasonable,” Crondel said, eyes bright with confidence—clearly aware of his own looks.

‘Like I’d fall for some pretty face—’

“I’ll pay you handsomely. I am a prince.”

…Okay, that got her attention. She still had debts towering over her, and money was always useful.

“…What kind of help do you need?”

In the end, she pretended to take the bait.

Thud.

To her shock, Crondel dropped to one knee. She forgot entirely that she wasn’t supposed to treat him like royalty.

“What are you doing?!”

“To show you proper respect,” he said solemnly.

“Please—become my magical partner.”