The Terminally Ill Prince is the Mad Dog of the Underworld (Novel) - Chapter 30

Chapter 30. It Wouldn’t Be Fun If I Told You Already

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The court tailor of Grünewald Castle was a craftsman who had been making clothes since the time of the previous head of the family.

“Please raise your arms for a moment. Yes, that’s good.”

An elderly man with a full head of white hair took my measurements. Despite his somewhat portly figure, he dressed so well that his appearance seemed stylish in its own way.

“Huh. This is quite something.”

The tailor clicked his tongue in amazement.

“What’s the matter?”

“It’s remarkable how your physique is exactly the same as when the lord was young.”

“Oh?”

I responded while feeling my shoulders and sides.

“That is quite surprising.”

“Indeed. Since I’ve been making the lord’s clothes personally for so long, I could do it with my eyes closed.”

“Well then, that’s fortunate. I’m sure you’ll make something even more splendid.”

“Is there any doubt?”

I looked around. The room was filled with fine fabrics like silk and velvet, threads of various colors, and half-finished garments. Yet, the sea breeze coming through the half-open window dispelled any sense of stuffiness, making it feel less like a cramped workshop and more like a true artisan’s studio.

“Do you have any specific design in mind?”

I rubbed my chin in thought before asking him a question in return.

“By any chance, did you also make my mother’s clothes?”

The tailor answered with slightly sad eyes.

“Yes, I did.”

“In that case, make it to suit her taste but also similar to the style my father used to wear.”

“Hm. That’s…”

The tailor tilted his head as if pondering over my somewhat vague request.

“So that one day, when my mother sees her grown son, she’ll be pleased.”

“…I understand.”

“I’m just saying that figuratively, so don’t think too hard about it. Ultimately, I trust the results to your craftsmanship.”

I treated the tailor as an expert and an authority in his field. Perhaps sensing this respect, his expression became more serious.

“In that case, I will pour all my effort into crafting these clothes.”

“I’ll probably grow taller and broader in the shoulders. I’ll also gain quite a bit of muscle, so keep that in mind and make it a bit roomy.”

“I understand.”

Like the head butler and the librarian, the elderly people who had worked in this palace for a long time had pride in their work. Simply acknowledging that pride often elicited a favorable response from them.

This was not something you’d often see in the underworld, where it was hard to make a living doing one thing for long. In that world, even if you were innocent, bad luck could get you caught up in trouble and injured.

If you asked what the chances were that a boy running a tavern in some back alley would still be alive five years later, it wouldn’t be easy to give an optimistic answer.

“I’ll leave it in your hands.”

“Please do. Come to think of it, it’s been quite some time since I’ve made formal attire for Prince Allenbert.”

His joyful expression was tinged with a bit of sorrow. It was a reaction often seen from those who remembered me as young Allenbert.

“Well then—”

“Ah, Your Highness.”

As I was about to leave, the tailor called out to me.

“What is it?”

“…Hm.”

He hesitated as if struggling to find the right words before finally speaking.

“Your Highness has truly grown into an impressive man. It brings me great joy to see you after such a long time.”

I didn’t remember what kind of relationship I had with this old man. But he must have held some deep impression of me—the fourth prince of the family he served.

“Thank you. Stay healthy yourself.”

With those words, I stepped outside. What an odd feeling.

“Come to think of it—”

I immediately asked Peter,

“How’s that fellow Marco doing?”

“Oh, him?”

Peter replied,

“When it comes to bad-mouthing people behind their backs, there’s hardly anyone as skilled as him.”

“That’s reassuring. Even useless fools have their uses somewhere.”

I didn’t voice what came next: ‘If he gets caught though, he’ll get beaten up.’

But Peter seemed to be thinking along the same lines because his nostrils flared above his tightly pressed lips.

“You’re just like Julia with that behavior. Are you two siblings by any chance?”

“Heheh, sorry about that.”

“Look at Olivier here. No matter what nonsense he hears, his expression doesn’t change at all. A man with extraordinary self-control.”

“I will strive harder,” Olivier responded.

“Ahem.”

Olivier looked like he wanted to say something but ultimately kept silent. It seemed he still wanted to maintain his dignity for now.

‘Come to think of it, Baklava is quieter than expected.’

I expected a reaction by now, given his personality.

Unless he suddenly matured, it must mean that he’s that scared of his older brother.

‘But seriously, who treats their younger sibling like that, as if they’re catching a rat? What a nasty personality.’

My long-standing belief is that those who are harsh to their siblings are also harsh to others. My hostility and wariness toward the man named Berdych Grünewald were growing by the day.

“I’m getting hungry.”

“I’ll prepare your meal right away.”

I shook my head at Peter’s words.

“No need. Let’s go eat in the dining hall.”

“Huh? You’re not eating in your room?”

“There’s no one left to talk behind my back if I eat outside, right?”

“Well, that’s true. We’ve already gotten rid of all those people…”

“And food tastes best when it’s eaten right after it’s served. It gets tasteless when it cools.”

“Heheh. That’s true.”

“Call Julia too.”

“Got it!”

I pointed at the men marching in orderly rows toward somewhere.

“Butler, are those men also part of the guard?”

“No, they’re apprentices.”

“Really? Their posture is as good as any seasoned knight.”

“Even the apprentices in the guard have skills comparable to regular knights.”

“Oh, I see.”

I observed their posture, gait, body types, and muscle development.

‘They’re certainly elite. I guess the warriors under a duke must be at this level.’

I recalled the time when Baklava fractured his bone while flailing around like an idiot.

The guards who rushed over back then were even more skilled than these men.

‘Warriors who could dominate the battlefield like grim reapers are suffering because they met the wrong master.’

As usual, I couldn’t help but criticize Baklava in my mind.

“Ahem. Um, Your Highness.”

“What is it?”

“I’ve been meaning to say this for a while. Since I’m your butler, please feel free to speak more casually with me. That way I can…”

Before Olivier could finish his sentence, I quickly responded.

“Shall I do that then?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.”

“….”

“What are you waiting for? Let’s go. I’m hungry.”

“Oh, um. Understood.”

Was it just my imagination, or did Olivier seem slightly less respectful now?

“Haha.”

If so, then everything was going according to plan. It was better to be more informal with my people.

—

The chef busily brought out large roasted meats and various side dishes to accompany them.

“Ah, this is excellent. Especially the use of this sauce—it’s exquisite. Did you use chicken broth?”

“Yes, Your Highness. I’m glad it suits your taste.”

“After eating your food for a few days now, my palate has been quite pleased. I think there aren’t many in this castle who can match your skills.”

“You honor me with your praise.”

The middle-aged man with a rugged appearance—more like a butcher than a chef—was flustered by my compliments. From what I’d heard, he’d never once stolen any ingredients. That was quite an impressive display of integrity.

“Let’s see each other often. After all, food tastes best when eaten right after it’s prepared.”

“Thank you so much for appreciating my work… It truly makes it all worthwhile…”

“That’s good to hear.”

I watched the chef leave with a flushed face.

“I’ve always thought so—Master treats us lower servants really well,” Peter remarked.

“You even take care of a lowly servant like me and my family and helped us through hard times…”

Peter’s eyes suddenly reddened with emotion.

“Cut it out, you pathetic fool.”

“Huuuhhh…”

“Your Highness may have changed a lot, but that part of you is still just like when you were young,” Olivier added with a satisfied smile.

“You flatter me. But keep going—I like hearing it.”

“Yes.”

Remember this: If you want to raise your reputation, you have to start from the bottom.

Of course, I wasn’t being insincere with them. Karzan had been around people struggling for their daily bread since childhood and had lived among them every day.

‘I’m nothing like that reckless fool Baklava who doesn’t even realize how much he relies on his employees.’

As I habitually criticized Baklava while eating my meal, I noticed some guards conducting outdoor training in the distance at the parade ground.

“Are those apprentices from earlier?”

Olivier squinted his eyes and enhanced his vision with mana before answering,

“Yes, they are.”

“Hm.”

Olivier was clearly quite adept at using mana. Even I couldn’t fully gauge how powerful he would be if he unleashed all his stored strength.

“Tell me more about the guard unit,” I said.

“The guard is a unit specifically formed to protect the lord and his bloodline as well as Grünewald Castle,” Olivier responded immediately.

“It consists of only the most talented warriors raised by Grünewald and seasoned veterans. Their combat power is equal to or even greater than that of any knight order.”

“As you explained, the martial arts of the knights and the royal guard must be different, wouldn’t you say?”

“Ah, yes, that’s correct.”

Olivier spoke in admiration.

“Their purposes are different, so the paths they pursue in martial arts also diverge. I’m impressed that you inferred that so quickly.”

I followed Olivier’s example and heightened my vision. In other words, I focused my mana into my eyes. Blood rushed to them, and the mana gathered as well.

“Indeed. Their physical abilities are uniformly outstanding.”

The guards were running vigorously without any of them falling behind. A skilled warrior is always a good runner.

“Though I haven’t seen them wield their swords directly—”

I waved my knife around as I spoke, mid-meal.

“I’d guess that the knights’ martial arts involve wearing heavy armor and practicing mounted combat or preparing for chaotic battles with many variables on the battlefield.”

“Hmm.”

That’s a lie. It’s not a guess—it’s based on experience.

If I were to gather all the knights or knight-trained swordsmen I’ve crossed blades with in my past life, I could easily fill a large merchant ship. Of course, that ship would be called a ghost ship.

“They likely developed their skills to prioritize momentum and aggression over precision.”

Of course, Grünewald’s approach might differ, but on a broad level, it should be similar.

“You’re exactly right.”

Judging by Olivier’s expression, it seemed I had hit the mark.

“On the other hand, the royal guards are more accustomed to fighting on flat ground rather than on horseback, and they’re probably used to smaller-scale battles. There must be many one-on-one duels as well. Given their purpose as a unit, they would focus more on defense and protection rather than pure offense.”

Their martial arts would differ from Karzan’s swordsmanship. But that was actually a good thing. Defense and stability were areas where I was lacking.

“For example, would it go something like this?”

As my movements with the knife changed, so did Olivier’s gaze. It seemed I was right again.

“It’s quite similar.”

“Oh? Perhaps I’m some sort of sword genius.”

“You might very well be.”

I said it jokingly, but it wasn’t really a joke.

“But Olivier.”

“Yes?”

“Are there any guards who are a bit reckless or hot-tempered?”

“Pardon?”

“I’d like to provoke one of them a little and have a sparring match.”

“You’re joking, right?”

Olivier sighed as he looked at my face.

“…Please restrain yourself. It wouldn’t be good to cause unnecessary trouble.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re saying it with your eyes right now.”

Olivier’s response had a hint of frustration mixed in.

“That’s impressive, Master. You’ve managed to irritate even the butler,” Peter chimed in from where he had been quietly listening.

“Shut up.”

“Yes.”

“Your Highness. Even if you don’t go about it like that, if you want a sparring partner, you can find plenty of volunteers.”

“That’s true.”

“So please don’t even think about it.”

“What do you mean? Everyone has the right to dream. The right to dream is…”

Olivier sighed deeply again. I pointed at him excitedly.

“Look at this! Your composure is starting to crack!”

“This must be part of my training as well. I’ll strive harder,” Olivier replied.

“That’s the spirit! You need at least that much determination.”

I set down my knife and resumed cutting into my meat. It sliced through easily with soft swishing sounds. When I infused mana into it, the knife—now imbued with aura—cut through the tendons of the meat as easily as slicing cheese.

‘Ah, this is bad.’

I was getting restless. I wanted to go swing a sword immediately. Ah, I could hear the song of the sword calling me. Even my fists were crying out in frustration.

I turned once more to look at the guards visible outside through the window.

Sensing my gaze, several of them glanced back at me. Even though they were quite far away, their senses were sharp enough to notice me watching them.

“Well now, look at that?”

Their eyes were full of defiance.

I have this bad habit: whenever someone looks at me like that with raised eyebrows, I get an overwhelming urge to poke them hard.

“Olivier.”

“Yes?”

Let’s change the question this time.

“Are there any guards who come from vassal or noble families?”

“Yes, there are some.”

“So those families could potentially support different princes?”

This time Olivier took a moment before answering.

“…That’s correct.”

“Good. That means there must be quite a few who lack proper respect for Allenbert Grünewald, the 4th Prince.”

Wherever you go, there are always young men full of confidence in their background and abilities—often too much confidence for their own good.

‘I smell chaos brewing.’

At last, I smiled in satisfaction.

“Heh heh heh.”

“No way… Your Highness… surely not?” Olivier asked in alarm as he sensed something ominous.

“If possible, I’d like to go over there for some ‘observational training.’”

“What exactly are you planning?”

It wouldn’t be fun if I told him already.

I simply replied,

“We’ll see.”