I finally spoke the words I hadn’t been able to finish earlier in the training hall. I thought Zetak might appreciate the idea of separating from me, but there was no response. He was probably too tense, knowing he might soon face the trial. As we left the dormitory, the knights surrounded us, walking closely both in front and behind.

“You’ve always been good at coming up with excuses when needed, just like now.”

Zetak finally broke his silence, his tone cool. His hand, which had been cold when he first took mine, was now warming up from my body heat.

“Why are you saying that? I don’t recall ever being so unreasonable before.”

“Don’t you remember? When you were ordered to choose a crown princess.”

“…Now that you mention it.”

That must have been when I was around fourteen. My mother was determined to secure my position as crown prince, and part of that involved choosing a crown princess ahead of time. I remember her bringing me lists of noble families day after day. Honestly, I didn’t care whether I chose a crown princess or not. Whoever I married wouldn’t have meant anything to me. But…

[Why do you look so down?]

[I’m not looking down.]

[Then wipe your eyes and say that again.]

[My eyes aren’t teary. You’re imagining things.]

[…That imagination of mine again.]

If I had simply picked a few names from the list my mother gave me and sent them back, the rest—the competition and everything else that followed—wouldn’t have been my concern. If not for Zetak’s persistent reaction, that’s exactly what I would have done. But why did I hesitate? Looking back now, it seems like I always gave in to whatever Zetak wanted whenever he cried. Was there a reason for that? After all, he was just a servant, and there was no real reason for me to treat him any differently.

Other servants had cried in front of me plenty of times. One spilled hot tea on my hand, another broke a vase they could never repay even if they worked their entire life, and there were probably a few others.

But no matter how much they cried, I never once considered listening to them. I would simply instruct the head steward to handle it according to palace rules. That’s how I dealt with everyone else. So why did I always give in when Zetak cried? 

Then again, does it even matter? It’s all in the past. Questioning it now seems pointless.

[What are you talking about? You’re refusing to choose a crown princess?.]

I knew my mother wouldn’t back down easily. Unless there were a compelling reason, she would ignore my opinion and move forward with selecting a crown princess. That’s why I had to take drastic measures, as I recall. And all because a mere servant boy disliked the idea of me choosing a crown princess.

[Is it because none of the girls appeal to you? If so, I’ll search through other noble families.]

[It’s more that I’m not ready for it yet.]

[That’s an unusually cute thing to say for someone like you. Still, you’re a man, even if young. So tell me, what sort of preparation do you need?]

[I’m…]

What did I say back then? Ah, yes.

[I need to prepare myself to reveal that I’m… impotent.]

I recalled the moment my mother collapsed, clutching the back of her neck and making a strange sound. Just as I had hoped, after that day, discussions about choosing a crown princess completely disappeared. Instead of worrying about a future crown princess, she became more preoccupied with the fear that my words might spread as rumors. She even secretly sent for a healer known for treating impotence. 

She also provided medicine that was said to be miraculous for vitality—given to a mere 14-year-old, no less. Naturally, all of that ended up in Zetak’s hands. It was Zetak, dressed in my clothes, who received the healer’s needles as well. When else would you make use of a servant if not in times like these?

“You worked hard taking all those medicines.”

As I mentioned it, suddenly recalling the event, Zetak’s face twisted with a surge of emotion. Even though his hair partially obscured his expression, it was clear that strong feelings were written all over his face. 

…What was that? Did I just hear him mutter damn it?

“You just…”

“You’re mistaken, Your Highness.”

“…I haven’t even said anything yet.”

He looked so furious that I decided not to press him any further. Somehow, the grip of his hand around mine seemed to tighten. If I brought it up, he would probably just insist it was a misunderstanding.

“Because of that medicine… every night… it’s just overwhelming; saying it’s extremely difficult doesn’t even cover it…”

“Damn.”

I could hear him muttering through clenched teeth. It seemed that taking the medicine every night had been quite a burden for him. It was understandable; the smell alone was bitter. It must have been hard for a child to tolerate.

“They were effective medicines. I took them for nearly a year, so I’m sure they’ll be useful someday.”

“…”

For some reason, he glanced up at me.

***

When I arrived at the temple, I expected the priests to block my entry. However, contrary to my expectations, they only glanced at me briefly before allowing me in without any resistance. They must have anticipated my arrival, even if it was by force. A few cast disdainful looks at me for associating with Zetak, but they quickly averted their eyes. No one wanted to risk the repercussions of offending a member of the royal family.

The courtroom was nothing remarkable. A holy magic circle was inscribed on the floor where the accused would kneel, and the high priests stood around it—that was all. 

“Your Highness, it’s time to let go.”

Having accomplished my purpose for attending the trial, I obediently released my grip. They forced Zetak to kneel within the holy magic circle. 

The moment Zetak was made to sit, the magic circle activated. Silver chains shot up from eight points on the circle, wrapping around his body. Perhaps due to warnings against any resistance, Zetak showed no significant reaction as he was bound. 

“Jaibid, I’m sure the temple didn’t allow you to come. Why are you here?”

It was my father who spoke, seated in the council chair. Beside him, my mother looked at me with a disapproving gaze, as if silently pleading with me not to provoke him further. Before I could respond, my father waved his hand dismissively, clearly uninterested in hearing my explanation.

“No, never mind. You must have come in defiance anyway. Now that you’re here, take a seat.”

At my father’s command, the priests escorted me to a chair prepared beside him. It was obvious they had anticipated my arrival all along. 

“If the servant has caused you any harm, please write it down.”

They knew I wouldn’t write anything. Still, they went through the motions, as if to say, The script is already written. Just follow along.

“High Priest, could you check Jaibid’s arm once more before we begin the trial?”  

At my father’s command, an elderly priest approached me. Zetak also shifted his gaze toward me—or more specifically, to my right arm. For a brief moment, I caught a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. He must have sensed something was amiss the moment we entered the room; he likely realized there was something wrong with my arm.

“Your Highness, can you try making a fist?”

“…”

In truth, I had almost no sensation in my right hand. Most of the nerves were likely dead. I tried to move it, even with the faint trace of feeling that remained, but the result was far worse than I had anticipated.

All I managed was to get a few fingers to tremble weakly in place. For a moment, it looked like my fingers might curl slightly, but they quickly straightened again, shaking with small spasms. Even the muscles seemed damaged. The priest’s expression darkened as he assessed my condition. 

“…That will be enough for now, Your Highness. Please rest. I will try another treatment soon.”

The High Priest began to pour holy power into my hand. A soft, glowing light enveloped it, and as it did, I looked up at my father. His face showed an unusual level of anxiety as he awaited the outcome. 

My father isn’t the type to second-guess a decision once it’s made. His visible concern now was likely due to the rumors he had heard—that I had manifested sword energy. I was the youngest prince ever to awaken such power. Publicly, this would carry immense significance, enhancing the royal family’s prestige and elevating the importance of our bloodline. Although Bapharos had also manifested sword energy, the title of the youngest to do so belonged to me. That’s why my father was so fixated on this.

The High Priest continued to pour holy power into my arm, but his expression grew increasingly grim. Eventually, he withdrew his holy power and bowed deeply to my father, his face heavy with defeat. 

“It seems unlikely,” the High Priest finally said. “The nerves and muscles around where the nails pierced are too severely damaged.” 

“And what about other treatments? Can rehabilitation restore function?”

“…” 

“I would appreciate an honest answer.”

The High Priest hesitated. It must have been difficult for him to outright say that I wouldn’t even be able to hold a pencil properly anymore, let alone wield a sword. Delivering such news would be challenging for any royal, but for a prince who had manifested sword energy? Admitting that my arm had become useless was something he simply couldn’t bring himself to say.