The Reincarnated Prince and the Haloed Sage Volume 3 Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Prologue: The Game, the Scheme, and the White Snow

  Chapter One: The Prince, the New Year’s Party, and the Ambush

  Chapter Two: Shooting the Breeze, the Visit, and the Contact

  Chapter Three: Shiro, the Magic Nerd, and the Odd One Out

  Chapter Four: The Prince, the Sisters, and the Tea Party

  Chapter Five: Professor Shiro, History, and Magic

  Chapter Six: The Prince, the Date, and Life’s Purpose

  Chapter Seven: Jeanne, the Poison, and Schemes Twining

  Chapter Eight: The Grand Cathedral, the Templar, and Blind Faith

  Chapter Nine: An Old Friend, the Best Ending, and the Reunion

  Chapter Ten: Noel, Hoenir, and the Ritual

  Chapter Eleven: The Inevitable, Bloodshed, and Loss

  Chapter Twelve: The Funeral, the Voice, and the Engagement

  Finale: The Reincarnated Prince and the Haloed Sage

  Extra: The Bard and the Hymn of Hope

  Postscript

  Color Illustrations

  About J-Novel Club

  Copyright

  Prologue: The Game, the Scheme, and the White Snow

  The seasons of Gracis Kingdom were less extreme compared to its neighbors. The year was divided evenly between the four seasons, and it was neither as hot as the southern reaches of the continent, nor as cold as the northern tundra beyond the mountains. The mild climate had contributed in some manner to the nation’s prosperity.

  However, this prosperous kingdom had declined in recent years. It was beginning to rot from the inside, poisoned by the corruption of its nobles and government officials. And, as though to reflect its internal strife, the kingdom’s climate had begun to worsen. Drought, floods, and widespread infestations became much more frequent throughout the nation, causing famines. Worse yet, those seemingly ubiquitous greedy nobles had raised taxes to line their pockets, further destabilizing the lives of their people.

  The citizens of Gracis might have been able to weather either famine or nationwide corruption, but both at once were unbearable. One of them was a man-made catastrophe, to boot. An easily avoidable one at that, if the king had only kept those nobles under control. The people called the king a fool and cursed his reign. If the king had only reined in the nobility and served the country as his duty demanded, their struggles would undeniably be lessened.

  On the other hand, most people remained in the country despite their grievances, because they knew full-well that they would be worse off in neighboring nations. Immigrants in foreign lands were nothing but cheap labor. Starting out from scratch in a situation like that would require incredible effort, patience, and luck. Those common folk who worked themselves to the bone day in and day out had no way to improve their circumstances, nor did they have any hope things would improve. It became a daily ritual for workers to find themselves at a local tavern at the end of the day, to drink and complain the night away.

  “It’s okay!” the barkeep’s son said cheerfully. He’d been helping tend to the customers with a wooden tray in hand.

  “Come on, kid. The grown-ups are talking.”

  The hardened regulars frowned at the boy, each holding a full wooden mug of cheap booze in their hand. Most boys his age would have run the other way, terrified. However, irritated drunks were part of life in a tavern.

  The boy instead answered with a beaming smile. “Because of the Prince of Light!”

  “Prince of Light?” The regular who had first answered the boy recognized the title. Children in town had taken to playing pretend, and playing “Prince of Light” was particularly popular these days. The gist of the story was that the Prince of Light, with his servants in tow, would take down the bad guys and make the world better.

  The make-believe game required one child to play the Prince of Light and two more to play his attendants, as well as any villains or princesses they wanted to be involved. At the prince’s command, his men would defeat the villains and save the princess. With the catchphrase ‘Now that settles it!’, the prince would hold up his pocket watch to the villains. This trend seemed to have originated in a recent play performed by a traveling theater troupe, called How the Prince of Light Restored the World. Reenacting the play had become all the rage among the children of the capital, and the trend showed no sign of stopping. Even this tavern regular’s daughter would recite parts to him every day.

  At the end of the day, however, it was just make-believe for children.

  “Hmph. A cheap children’s story...” the regular grumbled.

  “The Prince of Light is real!” the son of the barkeep protested, his polite smile fading. “I met him when—”

  “Hey! Don’t shout at customers!” A fist struck the boy’s head, cutting his rant short. The tray fell to the floor, but since it had nothing on it, there was no damage save for the loud clatter. “Go to the kitchen and help your daddy,” the boy’s mother ordered.

  “But Mom... the Prince of Light is real!”

  “Now.” At his mother’s forceful command, the boy picked up the tray before trudging off to the kitchen. After watching her son leave, the tavern owner’s wife gave her customer an apologetic look. “I’m sorry about that.”

  “He’s just a kid...” the man muttered. “Don’t go too hard on him for it.” The owner’s wife had an ample, motherly figure, so once she raised her voice even a hardened drunk like him felt like he’d disappointed his own mother. Both his frustration and buzz had dissipated. Then, the man recalled how the tavern matriarch hadn’t been out on the floor lately due to some illness or other. “You feeling all right, Mama?”

  “Sorry to make you worry. We finally managed to get some medicine from a traveling merchant. I’m doing much better.”

  “Good to hear. Speaking of, those bandits lurking on the roads have been taken care of,” the man added.

  Crime had gotten worse because of the country’s unstable rule, leading to an abundance of bandits outside of the capital that targeted the merchants along trade routes. The result was a drastic drop in the number of merchants coming into the city, and those few who braved the journey were forced to hire guards. Moreover, the lords and ladies of the outer territories would charge merchants a fee for their meager ‘protection.’ The merchants in turn had to charge more money for their goods; some things had even doubled in price since the bandits began to appear. The medicine the tavern owner’s wife needed was sorely affected, so she’d been unable to treat her illness for some time.

  “I hear they had attacked and killed some people, too... Thank goodness they’re gone. But who took them out? I doubt that lord would do anything for his people...” The regular recalled the lord of the land, whom he had seen from a distance once or twice. The man was immensely fat, in contrast to his emaciated populace. The people of the area all held the belief the lord could probably roll faster than he could walk.

  “Speaking of His Lordship, there’s been a notice that this year’s taxes will be lowered,” a younger regular interjected.

  “Really?!” The first man couldn’t help but raise his voice. He couldn’t imagine that awful aristocrat lowering taxes by any amount—much less across the board, for the common folk.

  “It’s true. What’s more, the announcement says he’ll even consider accommodations for those who can’t pay. At first, I was afraid he knew some natural disaster was about to strike... But, now that I think about it, there was a guest at the lord’s manor shortly before the notice went out...” The young man trailed off before ordering a drink.

  The barkeep quickly prepared the man’s order, sharing a smile with his wife. The two regulars were too busy gossiping about their lord over drinks to realize the change in the barkeep and his wife.

  “All thanks to the Prince of Light...” their son muttered as he walked by them, carrying a dish from the kitchen. “Why do we have to keep it a secret?”

  Elsewhere, there was a dark room without a single window. The only source of light was a lamp placed on the table in the center of the room, illuminating only the hands of those that had gathered there.

  “Preparations are complete.”

  “Finally!” one of the men cried. The room was filled with relief and excitement at the long-awaited good news.

  “Settle down, everyone. Preparations have been made. Nothing more.” Another man’s voice, calm and collected, restored the tensions in the room. “Shall we begin...? Glory to Saint Ferris.”

  “Glory to Saint Ferris!” the rest of the room copied.

  Meanwhile, there stood a figure clad in a Spellcaster robe staring out into a snowy field. They hated snow. The white color always reminded them of their past. Their perfectly straight white hair perhaps suggested why.

  Suddenly, a gust of wind lifted some flakes of snow from the ground, and they settled on their long, white locks. “I wish it would all disappear...” This utterance, that seemed to reject everything in the world yet long for something more, was lost in the wintery landscape.

  Chapter One: The Prince, the New Year’s Party, and the Ambush

  The new year had finally arrived in Gracis. The castle in the capital, which had been covered in a thick blanket of white snow, was hosting a party to celebrate the new year, with royalty, nobles, and government officials in attendance. It was a grand ball that included all of their fam
ilies, too. Every attendee dressed to impress, enjoying small talk and the buffet. The ball also included a dance floor, accompanied by popular tunes performed by the country’s top musicians and populated by elegantly dancing guests.

  In a corner of the ballroom, a child sat on a chair with his eyes fixed on the bustling party. The boy, who could easily be mistaken for a girl, had soft blond hair, emerald eyes, and fair skin. At a few months shy of seven years old, the child masked his exasperation behind an adorable smile. He continued to watch the party as he half-heartedly interacted with every noble or official who passed, as well as their children. Please let this end... he silently groaned for the umpteenth time that evening. Even so, he maintained a perfect smile on the exterior—this was his way of getting by in this world. The boy was Herscherik Gracis, the Seventh and youngest Prince of Gracis Kingdom. People close to him called him Hersch.

  In a life very different from his current one, Herscherik had been Ryoko Hayakawa, an ordinary Japanese woman (if a bit of an otaku at heart) who worked at a corporate office. Her life had been cut short in a traffic accident the day before her thirty-fifth birthday. Then, she had found herself reborn into this world of sword and magic as Herscherik—an otaku spinster trapped in the body of a stereotypical blond-haired, green-eyed little prince.

  Yet another low-ranking noble had come to greet Herscherik, looking to inch closer to royalty by any measly degree possible. After completing the exchange with his signature customer-service smile, the prince silently groaned.

  Ryoko’s workplace had been a relatively friendly environment, and she often used to go out for drinks with her coworkers. They would hit the bars for all kinds of occasions, from end-of-year parties to celebrating a new hire. Her bosses liked to have their drinks poured for them, as many people did in modern Japan, and tradition dictated that those lower on the totem pole would go around the table doing just that. While the relatively new employees were always stiff and nervous while interacting with the execs, the higher-ups always acted completely casual.

  “Something wrong, Hersch?” A young man who had been standing by the prince spoke quietly, looking into his eyes. He had curly hair, the gold-tinted orange of a sunset, that fell to slightly below his shoulders. While he usually kept his hair haphazardly tied back, he’d styled it neatly just for the occasion. He had an attractive face with downturned, sapphire-colored eyes that gave him an air of gentleness. This young man was Octavian Aldis, the third son of the Marquis Roland Aldis (who was once feared by neighboring nations as the Blazing General) and knight of service to Herscherik. The prince addressed him as Oránge, or Oran for short.

  “No, Oran. Just remembered something funny.”

  “All right... But let me know if you see anything.” Oran straightened his back and returned to carefully watching the ballroom. He was currently dressed in a white formal uniform that denoted his knightly service to Herscherik; at his side hung an undecorated sword, which stood in sharp contrast to the extravagance on display at the ball. This blade, which he had used every day of his life for years, also signified that he was one of the only people allowed to bring a weapon into this party outside of the official guards. It was proof that he had sworn an oath of loyalty to his master, allowing him to put the orders of the young prince above even those of the king himself.

  “I know, I know. But, Oran... wouldn’t you agree that I’ve greeted basically everyone who wanted to see me?” Herscherik said, looking around the room to find a few nobles and officials observing him. He met a few of their eyes, but they all hurriedly turned away once Herscherik gave them a single smile.

  “I’d say so.” Oran gave another look around the area. Anyone who met his eyes similarly looked away. Herscherik was starting to feel the results of his labor over the past year and a half.

  “I’m back,” a voice came from behind Herscherik.

  “Welcome, Kuro. Thank you.” Most people would have been startled by such a figure appearing soundlessly behind them and speaking so suddenly. The prince and his knight, however, did not bat an eye nor turn around, but simply greeted Schwarz, Herscherik’s butler of service. The young man, whom Herscherik had nicknamed Kuro, had silky black hair and ruby eyes, with a toned physique and a shadowy air about him. While Kuro dressed in all-black formalwear becoming of his position, Herscherik assumed that there were several weapons hidden beneath Kuro’s innocuous outfit. As one of the most capable spies in the country, equipping weapons was as routine for him as buttoning his shirt. Kuro had a mysterious air about him that had garnered much popularity among the ladies, just as Oran’s gentlemanly demeanor had.

  “You’re late, Black Dog. Where’ve you been?”

  “Keep your mouth shut, Knight Delinquent. Has all that muscle finally crowded out your brain?”

  Herscherik chuckled as the two bickered without changing their expressions. A back and forth of this caliber was a daily occurrence between them. Herscherik had grown accustomed to their unique method of communication. While anyone unfamiliar with their dynamic might have assumed that they were angry, Herscherik could see how they acknowledged each other’s strength and trusted one another—not that they would be caught dead saying that out loud.

  “How is it, Kuro?” Herscherik interrupted, seeing that they would otherwise keep barking at each other for eternity.

  “They’re all keeping their word. I double-checked.”

  “Wonderful.” Herscherik smiled, as if he had just spotted some of his favorite treats. Anyone not used to his implications saw nothing but an innocent smile becoming of his age, but those who understood the subtext saw malicious glee. “As long as they keep their word, I won’t be forced to do something I won’t like,” Herscherik added, with a touch of theatrics.

  Then, Herscherik thought back on the events that had taken place eighteen months ago. After the incident at the orphanage, little else had happened. It had been so quiet Herscherik was starting to become suspicious. He’d had no contact with anyone under the minister’s thumb, nor seen any sign of the agents of the Church that had most likely been involved in drug trafficking. Calm before the storm... It has to be, Herscherik thought.

  After a month of nothing, Herscherik had finally decided to make the first move. “Fortune favors the bold. Sorry, guys. We’re in this together now,” he’d declared to his men of service. With them in tow, Herscherik had traveled east and west across the city to lend a helping hand to people in need or take down an evil-doing noble with a smile on his face and evidence in hand. At some point, they’d rescued a traveling troupe from bandits and dismantled an underground organization that preyed on the common folk. Using Count Ruseria’s silver pocket watch like the magistrate Mito Komon had used his famous seal in that TV drama Ryoko used to watch before her death, Herscherik had embarked on a journey to fix this world from the ground up, running every which way with his henchmen in tow, and asking his oldest brother and House Aldis to back them up when needed.

  “If they don’t want to come out to play, I’ll start fires until they come out to put them out.”

  Herscherik would crack a devilish grin as he delivered lines like this. His men of service couldn’t pick their jaws up from the floor at the contrast between Herscherik’s ruthless tone and his heroic actions. Herscherik had continued to tell them “We punish the bad guys, help some good people... It’s a win-win. And if it takes any heat off of Mark’s back...”

  After their drug bust, First Prince Marx had to clean up the brunt of the mess. Marx knew full well the danger he was in, but chose to take on the role since his status would make him a less attractive target than Herscherik. Herscherik wasn’t happy with less than absolute safety for his brother, so he had decided to go out into the frontlines to divide the threat between the two of them.

  Marx had later scolded Herscherik for it, but Herscherik had argued directly with his brother. “You’re important to me too, Mark. What good is a patron if they feel too threatened to protect you? Besides, your duties don’t allow you to get around much.” With that, Marx reluctantly agreed—with the condition that Herscherik would never overreach his limits.

  At the end of it all, Herscherik spent his busy days by playing the sweet little prince by day and righting wrongs in the world by night. He went around blackmailing nobles with each newly uncovered piece of evidence, forcing them to do honest work and keep quiet about his involvement. He made sure that anyone he helped never mentioned his name, either. His nemesis would surely notice Herscherik’s actions. They might even make a move—or at least, Herscherik hoped they would. That was Herscherik’s “fortune favors the bold” strategy. Of course, boldness came with its fair share of danger.