Chapter 6

I’ve heard of the Ten Great Generals of the Empire.

Ten generals who stand at the pinnacle of Cordis’s military might.

It’s no stretch to call them the strongest on the continent.

They’re the pride of the Great Empire and a calamity to foreign nations.

‘…So it was Ferbias who brought along that fortune-teller…!’ I thought, biting my lip hard.

Those eerily glinting jade-green eyes, the tightly closed mouth, the thick and sturdy forearms.

A monster among monsters who, before my Regression, had risen to the ranks of the Ten Great Generals.

Who but Ferbias could command such a man as his companion?

I gritted my teeth.

‘I thought it was a bit much for him to chase me just because I stole one bit of the Great Emperor’s praise, but it was because of that fortune-teller’s advice.’

Amethus was called a fortune-teller.

His intuition was so sharp it bordered on the supernatural.

Before his piercing instincts, no scheme could hold.

Even nineteen years in the past, it seemed his keen senses had caught the scent of a regressor like me.

‘Ugh, really. The two most troublesome guys at once…!’ I groaned inwardly.

I bear the Seven Secrets.

I have to conceal my identity and intentions.

In that sense, Ferbias and Amethus are the last people I want to face, yet here I am, meeting them both on the first day of my Regression!

“Understand, Zionis,” Ferbias said, waving his hand dismissively.

“It’s just that, given the times, I want to be certain. You wouldn’t want to be misunderstood, would you?”

“…Certain of what, exactly…?” I asked cautiously.

“Nothing much. Just tell me if you’re hiding anything.”

His eyes began to emit a faint glow.

“Now, look into my eyes. Speak honestly.”

‘…Those eyes, could it be…!?’ I thought, barely suppressing my shock.

‘…He’s already acquired his Ars at this point!?’

Ferbias Caseptus’s Ars.

The Prince’s Eye, princeps oculus.

The First Prince’s eyes held power.

This is the biggest reason I find him troublesome.

I have many secrets, but those eyes lay them bare.

Emitting a dim glow, Ferbias commanded.

“Look at me and tell me, Zionis. What secrets do you hold?”

‘…The worst. Absolutely ridiculous worst-case scenario!’ I cursed at myself.

As if the fortune-teller Amethus wasn’t enough, now Ferbias’s Ars.

Facing two natural enemies while having lost most of my strength.

I might squander my second chance. If I hadn’t prepared, I really might have.

“…Uh, Your Highness Zionis?” a dumbfounded voice interrupted.

“Your Highness, I’ve been looking for you! Oh, who’s that…?”

Ferbias’s Prince’s Eye dimmed.

His face showed undisguised irritation.

“And who are you?” Ferbias demanded.

“…Uh, uh, uhh? Who C-Could it be Your Highness F-F-Ferbias…?” the voice stammered.

“I asked who you are. State your name.”

“Y-Y-Your Highness is speaking to me…?”

“Yes. You.”

The brown-haired man’s face turned pale.

“I-I-I’m Pies Roesti!” he blurted out.

* * *

“Pies Roesti? Never heard of you,” Ferbias said.

“…He’s my one and only imperial guard, big brother,” I explained.

“Is that so?” Ferbias replied, looking Pies up and down.

Pies was dressed as a knight, holding something wrapped in white cloth.

Ferbias snorted.

He only cares about two types of people: those who can be useful to him and those who might threaten him.

Pies Roesti was neither.

Kindly put, harmless; harshly put, useless.

“So your imperial guard was worried. We were just having a little sibling chat, weren’t we, Zionis?” Ferbias said.

“…Of course,” I agreed reluctantly.

‘A chat, after trying to manipulate my mind with your Ars? Go eat dirt!’ I cursed silently.

“Then I’ll ask again. Zionis, what’s your secret…” Ferbias began, summoning the Prince’s Eye once more, but he tilted his head.

“…Wait. What’s that smell?”

An undeniable aroma wafted over.

It came from Pies’s hand.

“You, Zionis’s imperial guard. What’s that in your hand?” Ferbias demanded.

“Th-Th-That’s what you m-mean…” Pies stammered.

Ferbias’s question was enough to fluster Pies.

Unable to finish his sentence, I answered for him.

“It’s something I urgently requested. I told him to have it ready by the end of the meal.”

“Bring it here,” Ferbias ordered.

“…Bring it, Pies,” I instructed.

Pies hesitated but slowly approached.

Since I had ordered it myself, he had no reason to refuse.

“I’m curious, Zionis. What did you request and what were you waiting for? Perhaps your secret lies here,” Ferbias said.

Without hesitation, Ferbias unwrapped the white cloth.

A golden object was revealed.

“To send your only imperial guard to fetch something so urgently… No way!” Ferbias exclaimed, his eyes widening.

“…This can’t be…!”

Amethus reacted similarly.

As he touched the surface of the golden object, it made a crisp sound.

Steam still rose from it, and an unmistakable sweet aroma grew stronger.

“…A pumpkin pie!” Ferbias declared.

Pies bowed his head at the First Prince’s exclamation.

“Y-Yes, sir. A pumpkin pie.”

“…Not an ordinary one, I bet,” Ferbias said.

“W-Well, that’s true, but…” Pies replied nervously.

Ferbias gestured with his chin, demanding an explanation.

Pies Roesti managed to move his lips, trembling with nerves.

“…N-Not ordinary, it’s v-very, very…”

“Very, very?” Ferbias pressed.

“S-Sweet… p-p-pumpkin pie…” Pies managed.

“……”

Just before the Succession War proclamation, I had made a request.

‘Pies, get a pumpkin pie. Really sweet. Got it?’ I had said.

Pies had been diligent.

He’d prepared a hot, crisp pumpkin pie for me, weary as I was.

It was perfect, the result of his efforts.

“Not ordinary, but very, very sweet pumpkin pie…” Ferbias repeated, his eyes sharpening.

Was this a joke?

Or some kind of scheme?

Under his cold gaze, Pies bowed even lower.

“Well, let’s see,” Ferbias said.

He stared at Pies, then tore off a piece of the pie’s edge.

The inside was even richer gold.

A sweet scent filled the air.

Ferbias brought the piece to his mouth and immediately grimaced.

“Ugh!”

“Your Highness Ferbias!” Amethus exclaimed, reaching for his sword, suspecting poison.

Ferbias stopped him. “No, it’s fine, Amethus.”

“But—” Amethus protested.

“It’s just too sweet. My tongue’s stinging,” Ferbias said.

Swallowing the bite, the First Prince burst into laughter.

“Not ordinary at all! Sweet as can be. Like something a kid would eat… a kid?” Ferbias tilted his head, then looked down at me.

Golden hair, blue eyes, a youthful face, and a small frame.

My eyes trembled faintly with surprise.

“Zionis,” Ferbias said.

“Yes, big brother,” I replied.

“How old are you this year?”

I answered without hesitation. “Eleven.”

I, Shion (thirty years old, a regressor), innocently lied about my age.

Ferbias didn’t suspect a thing.

“Oh, eleven, eleven, huh…” Ferbias muttered softly.

“…This is embarrassing.”

A chuckle escaped him.

“To think I got worked up over an eleven-year-old!” Ferbias said, ruffling my hair roughly.

“Sorry about that. You can go, Zionis.”

* * *

Pies and I quickly left.

“Ha. Ridiculous, just ridiculous! Even I, Ferbias, got tense,” Ferbias said, watching my retreating figure and laughing.

My scurrying steps were unmistakably a child’s.

“To think I was about to use the Prince’s Eye on a kid who prioritizes sweet pumpkin pie during the Succession War!” he exclaimed.

Was it because he’d faced the Great Emperor Continua after so long, or the pressure of the Succession War’s start?

To feel uneasy about me, Zionis, of all people.

“Still, perhaps it would’ve been better to check,” Amethus suggested.

“You know, Amethus, my Ars isn’t omnipotent,” Ferbias replied.

The First Prince Ferbias Caseptus’s Ars, Prince’s Eye.

A strange power that sways and dominates the mind, as if born to rule like an emperor.

Mighty and formidable, but not something to be used lightly.

“The Succession War has just begun. If I can save my strength, I should,” Ferbias said.

“Wise words,” Amethus agreed.

“Besides, it’s Zionis. You saw him,” Ferbias added, waving his hand.

“Preparing pumpkin pie during the Succession War proclamation… Ha, pumpkin pie! What a masterpiece. Cute kid!”

He chuckled again.

The Fifth Prince, Zionis—someone he’d never paid attention to before—turned out to be so innocent and adorable.

“There were some fine sweets from the north, weren’t there? Send some to Zionis,” Ferbias ordered.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Amethus replied.

“Showing kindness to kin is an emperor’s virtue, isn’t it?” Ferbias said.

He spoke as if already seated on the Imperial Throne.

But many already saw him that way and it was hard to call it arrogance.

He was Ferbias Caseptus, the Great Emperor Continua’s eldest son, after all.

“Amethus, stop worrying about him. Zionis is just a kid,” Ferbias said.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Amethus responded.

“I need to focus on Leniar and Secundus. If they join forces, it’ll be troublesome. That’s why I brought you from the Security Bureau,” Ferbias explained.

With that, Ferbias strode off, laughing heartily.

Amethus followed.

But he couldn’t laugh so freely.

‘…Just a kid, that’s true…’ Amethus thought.

The fortune-teller Amethus still felt an odd unease.

A strange anxiety lingered.

He hoped it was a mere misconception.

But Amethus knew—his instincts never failed at times like this.

‘…But then, why this unease?’ he wondered.

* * *

In the most remote part of the imperial palace, hidden among the garden trees, lies my detached palace, that of the Fifth Prince, Zionis.

One imperial guard, three maids.

It’s far too modest for a prince of the Cordis Empire, but I like it.

Having someone to attend to me is already a luxury, isn’t it?

‘I figured someone would pick a fight, so I had him bring a pumpkin pie,’ I thought, feeling pleased.

‘With the image of an eleven-year-old kid firmly planted, I can avoid attention for a while.’

It was all intentional.

The pumpkin pie from Pies, the timing right after the Succession War proclamation.

All to play the part of a child who prioritizes sweets over power.

A resounding success.

‘Even Ferbias and Amethus were fooled, so I’m safe for now!’ I thought triumphantly.

I brought a piece of the golden pie to my mouth.

“Mmm. N-Not ordinary, but v-very, very s-sweet… p-p-pumpkin pie!” I teased.

“Stop teasing me, Your Highness!” Pies shouted.

Pies’s brown-haired face was red with embarrassment.

“Do you know how nervous I was?” he demanded.

“Sorry, sorry,” I said.

Pies’s hands were still trembling.

For me, a fellow prince, Ferbias might overlook a slight discourtesy.

But for Pies Roesti, a lowly knight, it was different.

“I really risked my life…!” Pies complained.

“I know, I know,” I soothed.

I calmed Pies, whose eyes were beginning to redden.

“Your loyalty is second to none, and I know it better than anyone. Who else would, if not me?” I said.

“…Hmph. If Your Highness says so,” Pies replied, slightly mollified.

Though called an imperial guard, Pies is more like a friend to me.

My blue eyes sparkled as I chuckled and handed over a piece of pie.

“Have some. It’s really good pumpkin pie,” I said.

“Mmm, it’s delicious. Too sweet, though. Should I bring some to the maids?” Pies asked.

“No need. Tell them to come eat,” I replied.

“Haha. They’d be too shy to sit at the same table as Your Highness,” Pies said.

With a hearty laugh, Pies stood up.

He cut half the pie and put it on a plate.

An imperial guard bringing food to maids, a prince wanting to share a table with them.

A strange scene that could only happen in this detached palace.

‘That’s why I like this place,’ I thought.

The imperial palace, ruled by strict hierarchy, never suited me.

It never has.

That place is for the strong.

A paradise for those who need not cower, who have no reason to.

A place where trampling others for golden glory is natural and the trampled are blamed.

How could I like it?

‘The outside may be chaotic, but this place will be quiet for a while,’ I reflected.

The Succession War has been proclaimed.

Ferbias, Leniar and Secundus have likely already begun their battles.

Spying on each other, searching for the treasures’ locations with all their might.

Thinking of them sweating away made the pumpkin pie taste even better.

‘The library’s nearby. Maybe I’ll read some books and wait? It’s too early to act,’ I considered.

Books, across all ages, are a solace for the lonely.

It was the same for young Zionis.

Recalling an old hobby, I smiled faintly.

‘A few days of peace, at least,’ I thought.

* * *

Days passed since the Succession War was proclaimed.

The imperial palace was abuzz.

Those vying for the Imperial Throne were all busy.

With ten treasures to find, it was only natural.

I, the Fifth Prince, Zionis, the hero who regressed nineteen years, was also very busy.

“No way. This can’t be!” I exclaimed, throwing down my book.

“What’s wrong?” Pies Roesti asked, folding clothes nearby and looking at me curiously.

I clutched my head and shouted, “The Red Mage Clenos is dead!”

“…Who’s that?” Pies asked.

“A pilgrim. He started as an enemy but sacrificed himself to save the protagonist in the end!” I explained.

“…It’s a novel, right?” Pies said.

“Yeah.”

“……”

Pies let out a small sigh.

I ignored him and kept reading.

“No, Sophia Perez here!?”, “I am Valden of Bellas!”, “Oh no, someone tore the last page!” I muttered excitedly.

Pies, staring at me, finally spoke up.

“Your Highness, it’s been a week since the Succession War started. Is it okay to just read books?”

“Yup. What’s wrong with books? They’re a treasure trove of knowledge,” I replied.

I rummaged through a pile of books and picked up one with a purple cover.

“Look at this. Without books, how would I know the Ice Witch of the North hates fish dishes?” I said.

“The Ice Witch hates fish dishes?” Pies asked, puzzled.

“Yup. She got really mad when someone threw fish stew in her face,” I said.

“…Is that really about hating fish dishes…?” Pies muttered.

“Anyway, it’s useful knowledge,” I said, grinning.

The Ice Witch of the North, with her beautiful silver hair, came to mind.

A pang of nostalgia hit me.

Before my Regression, we’d been quite close.

Though, of course, she wouldn’t know me now.

“I’ve got a plan, even if it looks like I’m doing nothing,” I said.

“Eating pumpkin pie and reading books? What kind of plan is that?” Pies asked skeptically.

“A secret. I told you, I’ve got plenty of secrets,” I replied.

Secrets.

Pies smirked.

To him, I’m still just an eleven-year-old Zionis.

Maybe a bit more cunning and mature than before, but only slightly.

I, Shion Pollinglight, stood up, looking at Pies.

“But if you’re going to say that, I can’t just keep reading. Time to move a bit,” I said.

“Where to?” Pies asked.

“The library.”

“…….”

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