“Touch him, and you die,no matter who you are.”

The entire ordeal unfolded swiftly, almost before anyone realized it had begun.

“Prepare the grounds outside! This is a duel between knights!” roared the deranged prince, prompting the waiting servants to rush into action. In a matter of moments, the training yard was transformed. Under a broad canopy, an enormous sofa was arranged, and the prince reclined into it with effortless ease, eyes gleaming with interest.

“Well then, who’s first? You, orphan of the slums. Shall I grant you the right to choose?” he asked, tossing the decision to André without preamble or explanation.

“Your Highness! With all due respect, this treatment, even from a prince, is inappropriate against members of the Royal Knights…” one knight began to protest, but André cut him off.

“Senior. Step forward.”

He pointed directly at the man who had once insulted him, calling him a filthy orphan. To endure such disgrace any further would be cowardice. The knight scowled, his fury rising.

“Have you no honor as a knight? Will you really accept this, even though we’re being reduced to mere jesters waving swords in some farce? Come to your senses! Are you intent on disgracing the honor of the Royal Knights?”

André, unmoved by the outrage, responded with a cold smirk. 

“You speak of honor, and yet, why did you tarnish mine?”

“That’s not what matters now…”

“It does matter. My personal honor is worth no less than the honor of the knighthood.”

At André’s resolute answer, the knight fell silent. Interpreting that silence as consent, André stepped forward and unsheathed his sword with a quiet hiss.

“Enough talk. Come.”

The senior knight, with no room to retreat, drew his own sword and advanced. The two faced each other for only a moment before the prince gave the order.

“Begin.”

At that command, André made the first move. His blade extended sharply, the sunlight glinting off the edge with a piercing brilliance. Though his opponent was experienced and far from weak, André’s strikes were fueled by raw fury and cut through the air with unmatched speed. It was not just skill that drove him,it was memory and rage.

This was a man once connected to the body’s former owner, the tyrant prince. That prince had destroyed André’s future by severing his right arm.

“I despise the stench of commoners,” 

he had said, as if that alone justified such cruelty.

Later, when André returned to face him again, the prince had asked,

“Do you still reek of the slums?”

and then ordered,

“Kill him! Kill that man!”

André, somehow surviving and rising as a one-armed Swordmaster, had failed to assassinate the prince but became a notorious fugitive. He aligned with rebel forces, committed acts of terror against the Empire, and eventually rose within the rebellion’s ranks. Yet even there, his status as a commoner relegated him to the role of a disposable pawn.

“I’ll kill you! I’ll kill every last one of you!” he had once screamed, unaware that he would never be seen as more than a tool. Rejected by both empire and rebellion, André died cursing the world, left to rot after enduring every humiliation from the tyrant.

Now, even in death, the venom in his gaze no longer targeted the emperor, it found someone else. And that, somehow, pleased the prince.

The duel raged on, blades clashing violently, until at last, with a powerful swing, André disarmed his opponent. The knight’s sword spun through the air—its trajectory aimed directly at the prince.

“Ah!”

“Your Highness!”

“Move aside !”

The shout of alarm rose from all sides, even André’s eyes widened in shock, but the prince remained perfectly calm. While panic surged around him, a subtle message appeared before his eyes.

[Inspecting the object’s fate. It poses no threat to the Predator.]

He saw it clearly,the sword would not harm him. He didn’t move. With a languid posture and a look of boredom, he watched the blade hurtle through the air and embed itself in the ground beside his face.

The sword shuddered violently where it landed. The entire training ground fell into stunned silence. Merely appearing to threaten a prince could be a death sentence.

“Your Highness! It wasn’t intentional! Please, I beg your mercy!” the knight cried, falling prostrate and pleading desperately.

Before anyone could respond, Alfred appeared without a sound, removed the embedded sword, and respectfully presented it to the prince.

“Your Highness. You may shed blood if you wish.”

“You owe me another life. And now you choose to show up?” the prince said coolly.

“…I apologize.”

“How am I to rely on someone who’s always this slow?”

“I shall move more quickly from now on. In exchange for my delay, I bring news I believe Your Highness will be pleased to hear.”

“You’ve found the one responsible? And the preparations are complete?”

“Yes. Everything is in place.”

“And who is it?”

“Everyone present at the scene is involved in some way.”

“Perfect. And we have a sword already.”

Though he had known the truth from the beginning, the prince had waited for a proper justification. He took the refined blade from Alfred, rose from his seat, and stepped forward.

“P-please, Your Highness! I beg of you! Please, at least spare my life!”

The knight now trembled so violently he seemed about to bury himself in the dirt. The earlier defiance had completely vanished. Seeing such submission drained the prince of interest. With a bored flick of his sword, he tapped the man’s shoulder.

“Argh! Your Highness! Please! I beg you!”

The knight flailed helplessly, pleading for mercy. The prince, watching him squirm, recalled something.

“Just how strong was that commoner?”

They said André had looked the tyrant directly in the eyes, even as his arm was being severed, insisting he had done no wrong.

Glancing to the side, the prince found André meeting his gaze. His eyes, filled with an unreadable emotion, stared directly into the prince’s own. A strange excitement bubbled up. He did not suppress it.

“In the Eleventh Prince’s court, strength determines rank,” he declared.

“Y-Your Highness?” André asked, startled.

“That means you, commoner, now outrank this pathetic fool.”

Shock flooded André’s expression, and the prince found it delightful. This abrupt shift, this disruption of order, thrilled him. For that one moment, he gave in to the madness of the tyrant who had once lived in this body.

As the defeated knight tried to lift his head in protest, the prince pressed the sword down again. Blood welled up immediately.

“Y-you are absolutely right! Of course, Your Highness is right!” the knight cried, surrendering without resistance.

“Make sure you train your subordinates properly from now on, commoner,” the prince said flatly and turned away, the sword still loosely held in his hand.

“The carriage is ready,” Alfred announced.

“Good.”

The prince began walking, satisfied. But then he noticed André standing still.

“What are you doing?”

“Pardon?”

“Follow me. I need someone who can use a sword.”

“Yes, Your Highness!”

André hurried after him but appeared uncertain, as though on the verge of speaking. The prince immediately silenced him.

“Don’t waste my time with your petty thoughts.”

“…What?”

“I said don’t dare utter nonsense in front of me.”

“Understood!”

With a curt response, André fell silent. The prince climbed into the carriage.

André made to sit beside him.

“Are you insane, commoner?”

“…Pardon?”

“Since when does a commoner sit beside a prince? You’re meant to run.”

“Then should I ride on the roof, perhaps…?”

“You really are insane.”

“I’ll run!”

Only after seeing the prince’s scowl did André relent and back away. He glanced longingly at the passenger seat, already occupied by Alfred. Falling in behind the carriage, André stayed close, never slowing.

The prince observed him for a moment and, noting the cold determination radiating from the man, concluded that he would be able to keep up,because he had made his decision.