MPNS Ch 44

Chapter 44

 

“Recently, monsters managed to breach the palace, did they not? I only wanted to be able to protect myself… If you mean to sneer again that I plan to ‘sleep with my fencing master,’ then do me the favor of keeping your mouth shut.”

To Nikiel’s immense irritation, Yullan actually did fall silent. Clearly, he’d intended to make just such a barb.

Staring at that handsome face, shamelessly closed‑mouthed, Nikiel felt his outrage drain into helpless exasperation.

“If you don’t trust me that much, then you can assign my fencing master, Grand Duke.”

“And why should I?”

“Why should you?! Whether I live like a monk or a libertine is none of your business. So why do you pick a quarrel at every turn?”

“Who said I was quarreling, my prince? I merely stumbled upon a slut flung in the grass…”

“Enough! Just — pick me an instructor yourself! If you’re so loyal you shadow me around worrying about my chastity, then surely you won’t complain if I wish to learn self‑defense!”

At that, Yullan appeared to consider it, then slowly nodded.

“In that case, best to channel your foul urges into martial discipline.”

“Fine. I’m such a whore, after all. Send me a fencing master. A few sessions with you and even a patient with hypotension would recover in no time!”

“…‘Hy‑po… tension?’ What is that?”

The concept of blood pressure did not exist in this world, so the word had evidently slipped out in Korean, leaving Yullan frown‑browed and confused. His mangled pronunciation of the word even came out slightly comical.

But Nikiel, still too angry, had not the heart to laugh. He spun on his heel and stalked back toward the Prince’s Palace.

“The Grand Duke of this kingdom, and ignorant of even that much! Appalling!”

Like a man muttering loudly to himself, he hurled the words as he strode in a quick march.

Though he heard no pursuit behind him, he refused to slow down.

Of course, the word “hypotension” did not exist in their language. It was only natural Yullan hadn’t understood. Yet lashing out and calling him ignorant left Nikiel feeling relieved, as if venting had cleared his chest.

He had not gone far before he halted. A small band of squirrels had lined up squarely in his path, refusing to scurry aside, staring up at him with bright eyes.

Nikiel, fond of animals, forgot his anger in an instant and stopped walking.

“Do you live here?”

He spoke as if expecting an answer. The squirrels — five or six of them — only huddled together, peering at him.

On such a well‑traveled walkway, wild creatures behaving without the least shyness was indeed strange.

As Nikiel bent low, peering closer, a few rabbits came hopping along in turn, settling beside the squirrels and gazing at him.

“Oh? Did you come to see me too?”

Once again, he asked as though a reply might come. Crouched low, he watched them curiously. They did not flee — they inched closer. Some rabbits even pressed nearer, until they seemed to want to climb onto his knees.

When he stretched out a hand, a few squirrels grasped his fingers with tiny paws and sniffed him.

“Wow… I must be popular.”

The rabbits circled him, brushing their heads against his waist, nosing for his hands. When at last he lifted one, it sprang neatly into his arms.

Once a rabbit nestled there, the whole swarm followed — squirrels and rabbits alike piling onto him.

“Whoa, wait— hey now!”

Even small animals, many at once, were enough to knock him off balance. Not wanting to hurt them, Nikiel put up no resistance and ended up plopping back onto the ground, rump thudding into the dirt.

Still they scrambled, climbing to his shoulders, pressing their heads to his chest and neck. The affection was not unlike what the hawk had done earlier.

Admittedly, this was more innocent, lighter, given with the sweetness of rabbits and squirrels — but uncanny nevertheless.

And then a rabbit twitched its ears, turning sharply to peer behind him. Just like that, the squirrels broke and fled.

The rabbit in his arms squirmed frantically; once released, it too bolted away at once.

“What now…?” Nikiel muttered, baffled. And then a deep voice came from behind.

“Does this happen often? I mean, since your memory loss, have wild things been throwing themselves at you like this?”

“…No.”

The reply came curt, still in banmal — informal speech. Yullan of course owed him no deference as Grand Duke, and Nikiel was merely the youngest prince. Still, it grated.

Even for a royal, to be spoken to like this — shouldn’t there be at least mutual respect?

Dusting himself off as he stood, he glanced back. Yullan was frowning down at him, golden eyes shining under thick dark brows, as though stripping him to the bone with his gaze.

Startled, Nikiel stammered, but Yullan spoke again.

“Perhaps you do require defensive training.”

Why so suddenly…? Only a moment ago Yullan had mocked, sneered. Now his eyes were deadly serious. The mood shifted, unsettling Nikiel.

When he asked why, Yullan half glanced back and answered while turning away.

“You carry holy power. Wordless beasts may be drawn to it, approaching without fear. It has happened often before. Monsters as well may be lured by it. I’ll assign guards. Best for you to stay quiet. Unless you’d prefer to rut yourself to death out here.”

Rut? This bastard…

Nikiel’s eyes flared as Yullan’s massive frame strode away, black tunic stretched broad across his back. For good measure, Nikiel lifted his middle finger after him.

When the Grand Duke still did not look back, he raised both hands and gave him the double.

Clearly he had more urgent business — else why would a man of Yullan’s rank be walking alone? Still, Nikiel puzzled over his last words.

Beasts drawn to holy power might mean monsters, too, could be lured to him. As a competitor for the Subjugation Tournament, this was more than a handicap. It was a danger.

If monsters honed in on his light, no matter their true interest, disaster for Nikiel was inevitable.

After all — he was human, unlike the beasts in men’s skins who wielded swords and magic. He had none of their weapons.

If monsters came for him, he could do little. Even self‑defense training might not be enough.

And besides… this body doesn’t have much coordination…

Ah, and the real Nikiel had two left feet. Weight training and reflexes were entirely different matters. Martial arts required agility, and his body itself resisted such grace.

Irritated, he muttered, “Forget it. Let me die if I must.”

Perhaps life was just never easy. Even dropped by chance into royalty overnight, his path only filled with more hardship.

He tried daily to live industriously — yet always it became complicated. He could be wanton, carefree; but he feared that if he stopped training, his body would collapse utterly.

There was no going back, no way to Earth, no way to his old self. Nikiel, certain his original body was dead, resolved to survive in this world instead — yet remained tinged with gloom.

He had poured out such effort and still found himself plunged again into alien trials. Bleakness was inevitable.

Here his contradictory nature shone: live diligently, yet harbor no regret if death came tomorrow. He did not crave death — but neither did he cling to life.

His melancholy was always there, faint, like a tide far out from shore. Rarely did it crest and smash against his defenses.

Still, Nikiel had built breakwaters of will, raised lighthouses of reason, to hold back those waves and keep himself from drowning.

If despite all effort the tide should swallow him — well, then so be it.

Thus his paradox was complete: striving to live hard, yet ready to depart without regret. This was his constant, universal state of mind.

For that reason, even if monsters proved a threat, he cared little. Injury was nuisance, no more.

After all, wounds can be healed with holy power.

For all his failing health, there was this one divine edge to his body: holy energy.

Even if a limb were severed, so long as it did not rot or decay, holy power could knit it back whole.

So why fear harm? Pain passes.

At least, since Yullan had agreed to send an instructor, he could now return to the palace.

The only regret was the hawk — had it stayed, he might have learned its true nature.

But the behavior of the small beasts made one thing obvious. The animals feared Yullan Balt.

That keen hawk, so attuned to instinct — it must have sensed Yullan’s approach and fled early.

“Tch. Useless, all of you.”

Nikiel grumbled as he walked on, regretting most of all that he hadn’t managed more play with the bird.

Notes

• Banmal refers to casual/informal speech in Korean, jarringly disrespectful when used toward a royal. 
• The Subjugation Tournament is the great monster‑hunting contest convened by the Four Houses and the crown.