The Reincarnated Prince and the Twilight Knight Volume 2 Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Prologue: The Summer Before, the Jobless Young Man, and the Mountain of Paperwork

  Chapter One: The Prince, the Interview, and the Test of Skill

  Chapter Two: The Prince, the Black Dog, and the Delinquent Knight

  Chapter Three: Ryoko, Oran, and the Castle Town Excursion

  Chapter Four: The Two Princes, Doubt, and Two Years

  Chapter Five: The Investigation, the Oracle, and the Clue

  Chapter Six: The Orphanage, the Baron, and the Epiphany

  Chapter Seven: The Soirée, the Rose Prince, and the Bait

  Chapter Eight: Jealousy, Hatred, and the Way Out

  Intermission: The King, the Former General, and the Witch

  Chapter Nine: The Knight of Service, the Games of Contest, and the Backroom Meeting

  Epilogue: The Reincarnated Prince and the Twilight Knight

  Anecdote: The Royal Prince and the Third Son of the Marquis

  Postscript

  Color Illustrations

  About J-Novel Club

  Copyright

  Prologue: The Summer Before, the Jobless Young Man, and the Mountain of Paperwork

  On a hot day that seemed to announce the arrival of summer, a young man was called to his father’s office. He knocked on the door of the room in question and entered. The Marquis Roland Aldis, former general of the royal army, was awaiting him with a raised brow. Roland had resigned his post earlier that spring, as he was beginning to feel the effects of his encroaching old age. Still, his body was built like a mountain. The former general with burning red hair glared down his son.

  Octavian Aldis, the third son of Roland Aldis who had graduated from the knight’s curriculum at the royal academy the previous year, sighed inwardly. “You summoned me, Father?” he asked, without a shred of enthusiasm. Letting out another sigh as he noticed that Roland’s glare had only gotten harsher, Octavian shrugged. The gesture shook his slightly curvy locks, which were the color of a melted sunset.

  Octavian was a man with an attractive face. He was tall and fit, with curvy, shoulder-length hair carelessly tied off at the back of his head; his hair appeared completely orange at first glance, but it contained some shimmering gold highlights upon closer inspection. His downturned, sapphire-like eyes exuded a gentle disposition that was quite popular among the female students back when he’d attended the academy.

  Roland looked away from his son in exasperation and shook his head. Then, he returned his gaze. “Octavian, they’re holding a tryout for knights today. Go join it, now.”

  “Huh...?” Octavian blurted out.

  “Did you not hear me? I told you to go. Now.”

  “Well, that’s news to me. You said ‘today’? Where am I supposed to go, anyway?” Octavian asked quickly. Then, he let out a long sigh as he let his shoulders fall. “Besides... There’s no way I’ll make it. Even if I did, I don’t even want to be a knight.” He twisted his attractive face in disgust. “I’m not going.”

  Octavian turned right around, reaching for the door handle. Just then, something flew by his ear with a whish, followed by the sound of something striking the wall. Octavian carefully turned toward the source to find a blade, polished thoroughly enough to reflect his back at him like a mirror, stuck into the wall. And it was no run-of-the-mill weapon, but the very claymore favored by Roland. The blade spanned the length of Octavian’s shoulders down to his toes and was easily as wide as his face. This claymore, built more for crushing than cutting, was stuck at a right angle into the door. Octavian assumed that the blade had sliced clean through the wood.

  “Who said you could leave?” Roland growled.

  Octavian only slumped his shoulders in defeat. He knew that his father could not be dissuaded once he was in this kind of mood. The only way to do so would be to best him in a contest of strength, but the only person who could possibly pull that off in the Aldis family was Octavian’s oldest sister.

  That very sister had left on a journey to find and marry the strongest man she could. If one were to actually ask her, though, she would say that the whole groom thing was just an excuse for her to go train by herself. Without that excuse, she worried her father would force her into an endless series of marriage interviews, for fear that she would grow too old to be a bride.

  Octavian turned away from the claymore in the door and finally faced Roland.

  “I’ve waited half a year since you’ve graduated from the academy. All you’ve done is loaf around the house.”

  “I mean, I haven’t stopped training every...” Octavian meekly tried to retaliate, but he was immediately silenced by Roland’s glare, wordlessly commanding him to shut his mouth.

  “In my house, those who don’t work don’t eat. I can’t just keep you here when you don’t even try to get a job.”

  Octavian frowned. “I told you, I’ll go on a training journey, too—”

  “You will not abandon this house.” Roland immediately shut him down.

  Octavian huffed in frustration. His two older brothers were already serving as knights. As the third son, he wouldn’t be inheriting the family business, either. So, as a result, Octavian wanted to travel the world. If he needed some sort of paper to get through borders, he would join a mercenary guild. But no matter how many times Octavian proposed the idea, his father had never allowed it. Do you want me to stay here or not...? What am I supposed to do? Octavian gave his father a disdainful look.

  Roland presented him with a piece of paper. “This is where the tryouts are being held. Just go.”

  With another long sigh, Octavian accepted the paper in defeat. His father was never the type to listen to criticism. The only exception to that was Anne, Octavian’s mother and Roland’s wife. When he served as a general, he’d hardly even listened to half the input he received from the other commanders or the Minister of Defense, but he had always listened to Anne. Octavian’s mother was always smiling, and she was equally kind to children, his father’s former subordinates, and even her household servants. Although... Octavian had always wondered why his father would occasionally go pale when he saw Anne smile.

  Right, Octavian thought. I’ll talk to Mother, so—

  “Don’t bother speaking to Anne about it. This was her idea. If you don’t go, I’m going to be in big trouble. I don’t want to die just yet,” Roland noted, as if he could read Octavian’s mind.

  Octavian saw that his father was slightly trembling, blood drained from his face. He decided not to dig into it and reluctantly agreed to attend the tryouts. Where am I going...? He glanced down at the paper and immediately regretted not fleeing the house in secret to go on his journey of self-improvement.

  After some time, Octavian finally walked through the front gate to his family manor, his feet dragging. As if to push him in the right direction, an early summer breeze fluffed his sunset-colored hair.

  That same early summer breeze rushed in from an open window, tossing papers into the air like flower petals. As the ink-scented petals danced in the wind, the master of this room—who had been sleeping with his head down on a fine desk—was awakened by the cooling breeze brushing through his hair.

  “What a disaster...” he grumbled, seeing the state of his room. The papers that he had organized by timeline and category were all scattered and jumbled together.

  The boy defeated by his room’s disarray was Herscherik Gracis, Seventh Prince of the Gracis Kingdom. He had just turned five this year, and his butler of service called him Hersch. In his previous life, he had been a woman named Ryoko Hayakawa. She’d been an officer worker in a major corporation in an island nation known as Japan, and had died in a car accident the day before her 35th birthday. Ryoko had a serious case of “Otaku-ism,” and everyone thought she would spend the rest of her days with her fictional lovers safely inside book pages and TV screens. Upon her death, though, she was reincarnated as a prince, but with the memories of her previous life intact. Prince Herscherik (formerly Ryoko) had fair golden hair that looked like solidified sunlight, neatly trimmed so it barely brushed the top of his ears. His eyes were the color of pure jade. He had inherited his features from his father, who was one of the most beautiful men in the country. Still, Herscherik’s appearance paled in comparison to his siblings, much to his disappointment.

  Ryoko Hayakawa (now Herscherik Gracis) jumped off the leather sofa that was too large for him and started gathering the scattered papers. He was in his office—which was really more like a study room, considering his age. The room was smaller than his bedroom or the living room, but it was large enough to fit a table and chairs for any guests in addition to his desk and sofa. Bookshelves lined the walls that were papered in a calming emerald green. In truth, the room was much too extravagant for a five-year-old. Still, there were more books than blank spaces on those bookshelves, and the piles of overflowing volumes covered most of the desk and floor, along with the mountain of paperwork Herscherik had gathered in secret. In his own words: “I know where everything is.” Ironically, he had once criticized the disarray of someone else’s office. While Ryoko had always kept her room as tidy as the average teenage boy, no one was around to criticize Herscherik for his disorganization.

  Just as Herscherik lazily moved to retrieve his scattered papers, he was startled by a sound from above him. It wasn’t a divine intervention, though, but
a simple knock at the door.

  “Excuse me, Prince Hersch. I’ve brought you your drink.”

  It was the butler of service to the Seventh Prince, Schwarz Zweig—aka Kuro. He had glossy black hair and sharp eyes that shone like dark rubies, and his butler’s uniform was immaculate despite the heat. While he had already grown quite popular among the handmaidens of the royal quarters, he never seemed to care one way or the other.

  “Perfect timing, Kuro!” his master called to him.

  Kuro took a quick glance at the disaster within then bowed with a charming smile as he slipped out of the room and closed the door, all in one fluid motion.

  “Hey, wait! Don’t leave! You’re ditching me!?” Herscherik cried.

  The door reopened to reveal his butler, whose smile had been replaced by a look of disdain. “How many times have I told you to keep the window closed, Hersch?”

  “But—”

  “No buts. Nothing flew out the window, did it?” he reprimanded in his usual, informal tone. “You can’t afford to have anyone read most of these, right?”

  “I don’t think so...” Herscherik muttered, unsure. His green eyes met the red ones glaring down at him from far above, and he looked away. But it’s hot in here... he wanted to protest. Kuro had, in fact, warned him about the window. When he closed it, however, the room grew too hot. There was a piece of equipment installed in the room that cooled it by expending Floating Magic, much like air conditioning, but Herscherik found the artificially chilled air to be too cold. On the other hand, leaving the window closed without the magical cold air would make the room hot enough to give him heatstroke. He had reluctantly resorted to working with the window open when he drifted off and caused this whole debacle.

  Kuro sighed at Herscherik’s visible disappointment then placed the drink on the table and headed to the window. After making sure there were no papers on the ground outside, he closed the window lest another gust of wind worsen the situation.

  “It’s hot...” Kuro’s master grumbled.

  “Stop whining. It’s almost time, anyway. Get ready once you drink that.” Kuro pointed to the cold glass of tea he had just placed on the table. Then he began organizing the scattered papers.

  Silently thanking his butler for helping him out—albeit not without some nagging—Herscherik sat on the sofa by the table and took a sip out of the cup. The chilled tea served as the perfect pick-me-up. Then he considered his butler’s remark. “Hm...? What’s today?” Herscherik tilted his head. As far as he could recall, he had no tutoring or practice scheduled. In fact, he’d planned to sneak out into the castle town in the afternoon.

  Kuro let out another sigh (he’d let out a lot of those today) as he watched Herscherik struggle to remember his agenda for the day. “Tryouts for your knight of service,” he answered.

  “Oh... right.” A “knight of service” was a knight that exclusively served one particular person, most often a noble or a member of royalty. Ordinarily, the person in question appointed the knight themselves. However, Herscherik’s father was worried enough about his son’s safety to host an actual tryout for the position. “I’m fine, anyway. As long as I have you,” Herscherik muttered.

  Kuro halted for a moment. He immediately returned to the task at hand, but he now had a bit more energy in his step. “Turn them all down, then, if you don’t like them.”

  Herscherik didn’t notice that Kuro’s tone was slightly elated. “That’s true,” the prince agreed. I don’t want anyone who’s only after fame or status. What he really wanted was an ally to his cause—a true comrade. Herscherik gazed up at the sky through the window; the clear blue expanse was letting him know that the day was only getting hotter. I wonder what kind of people will be there...

  Herscherik finished his tea and placed the cup back on the table. The ice cubes made a refreshing clink.

  Chapter One: The Prince, the Interview, and the Test of Skill

  Herscherik had brought Kuro to a building in the western quarter of the castle, which was dedicated to the Gracis military. The prince looked over the steadfast stone masonry of the place, thinking that it almost seemed to embody the kingdom’s strength and resilience.

  “First time in the military quarters, Your Highness?” their guide asked Herscherik, who was looking to and fro as he walked beside Kuro. He was the instructor who had been teaching swordsmanship and martial arts to the young prince, and he would serve as the judge of the knight of service tryouts.

  Although Herscherik had been told at his very first lesson that he had no talent for fighting, he had continued his training with the mindset that perseverance was true strength. Thanks to all of his hard work, Herscherik had completely surprised his instructor by rapidly improving in... nothing at all. No matter how much he trained, his hand-to-hand combat was sluggish, his bow never fired a straight arrow, and he didn’t even build up any stamina or muscle in the process. The only skill he actually improved at, albeit at a snail’s pace, was horseback riding. Even so, his instructor kept on teaching him patiently. Even though he was never rewarded with results, it wasn’t in his nature to ignore anyone who worked hard. After Kuro watched Herscherik train for the first time, he’d silently patted his master’s head after the fact. Herscherik, on the other hand, clearly saw the pity in Kuro’s dark red eyes and was infuriated by it.

  The physically-unfit-to-the-point-of-pity-from-his-butler Herscherik answered his instructor. “Yes, it’s my first time. It’s very interesting.” First time here during the day, at least, he silently added.

  As Herscherik had been conducting his nightly investigative journalism since age three, he’d left hardly any stone unturned in the castle. Those unturned stones included the private quarters of his father, his siblings, and the queens; the heavily guarded treasury and jewelry room; and the archival room of each department that kept documents related to national security and were guarded by magical barriers for that reason.

  Herscherik had once been curious enough to ask his former-spy butler to help him obtain those papers, but Schwarz denied the request without a second thought. He had said: “Can’t do it.” Herscherik was shocked, and his eyes widened in disbelief. He’d never expected that from Kuro, who’d always seemed to handle any impossible task with aplomb. Kuro had flashed a frown in response, adding: “I could do it by destroying a few pieces of stupidly expensive equipment. Are you good with that?” Herscherik hurriedly retracted his request, secretly reevaluating Kuro as more of a meathead than he’d thought. Kuro seemed to sense the prince’s judgment and tightened his frown. “You need knowledge and magic to break barriers. I have the former, but only an average amount of magic. It’s easier for me to destroy the equipment than the barrier itself.” So I’m not a meathead, was his implication. Herscherik decided to go along with it.

  Herscherik recalled that conversation as they followed his instructor through the military quarters. Finally, they arrived at a room fully chilled by the cooling equipment powered by Floating Magic. Herscherik’s potential knights of service were already there, twenty of them in all. Their ages ranged from a fresh academy graduate of nineteen all the way to thirty, and every single one of them was in perfect shape. Herscherik, who struggled to put on any kind of muscle and was often mistaken for a girl, couldn’t help but be jealous.

  “Welcome, Prince Herscherik,” greeted Rook, the butler of service to the king.

  Despite being the same age as the king—who looked young and handsome enough to be in his twenties—Rook’s appearance actually matched his age. He had steel-colored hair that was darker than emerald green and sharp, black eyes that shone in the same color as his hair under light. How his butler’s uniform perfectly contoured to his well-built physique was reminiscent of the ultimate butler of Ryoko’s dreams. Herscherik was sure that Ryoko would have been charmed to death if Rook had ever called her “mademoiselle” in his deep, steady voice.

  “I will be in attendance today in the place of His Majesty.”

  “Thank you, Rook.” Herscherik answered the butler’s expert bow with his own.

  A butler of service was trusted enough to perform duties in their master’s stead. In fact, Rook might have held the highest status of anyone in the room. This might have contributed to how Herscherik’s mood rapidly declined once the interviews for his knight of service began.