Historically, it was normal for there to be many princes. Since a prince might one day become an absolute monarch, producing as many candidates as possible ensured stability. Thus, apart from nations with unusual traditions, every country had numerous princes. The Iron Kingdom of Chervil was no exception.

The newly crowned monarch of Chervil had seven wives alone, and even more mistresses who were not publicly acknowledged. Every one of his women bore a child each year. It was a blessing, but his ministers were concerned. There were simply too many young members of the royal house. So many princes and princesses, in fact, that remembering all their names was difficult.

The ministers had every reason to worry.

The Iron Kingdom of Chervil was a nation where the strong devoured the weak, its order founded on the logic of might. Ironically, the order of steel established by the kingdom gave every child of the king a chance. Here, even the youngest could inherit the throne, provided they proved themselves worthy. Men and women were equal under the Iron Kingdom's laws, and that applied to the royal house as well. Prince or princess, anyone who had proven their worth could take the throne.

And so the ministers braced themselves for the bloodshed that would one day come. Had the current king himself not ruthlessly purged his own kin to inherit the throne? Throughout history, bloodshed had always swept through the Iron Kingdom whenever a royal succession drew near. Nor was royal blood the only blood spilled in those purges. Nobles who backed the wrong faction would fall in droves.

Thus, whenever the number of princes and princesses increased, everyone worried about the purges to come. Before long, however, their worries became pointless. On a day of pouring rain, the most horrific event since the Iron Kingdom's founding took place.

Now the ministers and nobles no longer had to fear confusing the princes' and princesses' names. Of the king's teeming brood, only one remained. All but a single Iron Prince had departed this world. In other words, there was now only one name to remember.

No, they did not even need to remember his name. The title Iron Prince now existed for one person alone.

Ian Chervil.

* * *

I could scarcely breathe.

I looked ahead again, but the man was still there. I had not mistaken him. The Iron Prince truly stood before me. The sole heir to the throne, destined to rule this kingdom. The madman who had buried every last one of his siblings with his own hands. The monster who commanded a swordmaster at his whim.

The Iron Prince, Ian Chervil.

“Hmm. Nothing to say?”

Ian Chervil spoke with easy nonchalance as he sat on a shabby chair. His voice was more aristocratic than any I had heard in my life. I did not mean the imperious manner of speech peculiar to royalty. His voice carried authority in its very sound.

And it was not merely his voice.

His appearance, the subtle expressions on his face, every movement he made—all carried authority. It was not something one could learn or feign. It was as though he had been born the master of the world. As though a god had decreed it.

“Your helmet hides your face, yet somehow I feel I can see your expression.”

Ian Chervil grinned.

His blade-like eyes glittered. They seemed to pierce straight through the rusty helmet I wore.

“Does my presence make you uncomfortable?”

“... No, Your Highness.”

“Of course it does.”

Ian Chervil sat at ease, propping his chin on his hand.

“Naturally you are uncomfortable. It has been that way wherever I went since childhood. Everyone welcomed me with their lips, but never with their eyes. I was a presence no one wanted.”

“...”

“But what can one do? Such is the lot of one who stands above all.”

His ash-gray hair swayed with each slight movement.

“And what does it matter whether they are uncomfortable or displeased? What matters is my amusement and my will. In this kingdom of steel built upon blades, there is nothing I cannot do.”

“... You are quite right, Your Highness.”

Arrogant words.

Hearing my answer, Ian Chervil spoke in a bored voice.

“You are called the Sword Demon, are you not?”

“Yes. That is my nickname.”

“I did not see it myself, but from what I hear, your exploits were rather entertaining. You displayed a struggle that Goddess Lepri would love, swung your sword until the lowly people of the steel city went wild, then put the prize the Arena's clowns gave you up for sale the moment you received it... Heh heh. Most entertaining. I believe you have the makings of a clown yourself.”

“... You honor me.”

“I especially liked that last stunt. I came here myself after hearing about it.”

Ian Chervil's eyes glittered.

“You see, I love entertaining things. Do you know how empty a prince's life in the blade city is? The Iron Prince lives a gray life—tedious, predictable, devoid of pleasure. Things were more enjoyable when my elder brothers and sisters were still with us.”

“...”

“Do you know what I find myself thinking these days? I pray that at least one of my elder brothers or sisters has miraculously survived. I hope they will return to the palace and fight me again. Or perhaps some audacious necromancer might resurrect my brothers and stage a rebellion. That is how desperately I thirst for amusement these days, lowly gladiator.”

Ian Chervil's voice was matter-of-fact.

His eyes were utterly calm as he uttered those insane words. Strangely, that made his madness feel all the more profound. It was a different kind of madness from that which haunted the Arena, or the madness of the orcs. Not madness blazing like fire, but madness thick and sticky as filth.

“That is why I love the lowly folk who live to provide amusement. I love gladiators, I love clowns, and I love bards and storytellers.”

“...”

“Ah, yes. I loved my precious siblings too. My elder brothers and sisters did so very, very many entertaining things for me. Yes. There was much to enjoy in those days. All those families fleeing to the frontier, hoping to survive by escaping my blade. Those countless nobles! It was all entertaining.”

Ian Chervil smiled as though he truly found it delightful.

It made my skin crawl.

“Sword Demon. Lowly gladiator.”

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“You decided to sell the Dragon Sword the moment you received it as a prize. You disregarded honor and duty to follow the logic of gold. Like the people of the Free City.”

“Yes, I did.”

“What would you have done if it had been a gift bestowed by my own hand, rather than by the Arena's clowns? If it were a blade given to you by Ian Chervil himself... would you still have sold it?”

His eyes glittered at that moment.

After a moment's deliberation, I answered.

“No. How could I sell a gift from so great a personage...”

“Ah, I have no desire to hear a boring answer. Speak honestly.”

Ian Chervil cut me off, then added,

“I shall take no offense, whatever you say. I swear it upon my soul before the nine goddesses and the seven chief gods. So tell me. Let me hear the opinion of the man who did something so intriguing and entertaining.”

His voice grew somewhat animated.

At last, I answered slowly.

“I would have sold it.”

“Would you?”

“Yes. There is much to gain from selling it, is there not?”

“Indeed. You would gain many steel gold coins. But what if I were displeased?”

“You would not be. Did you not say you liked entertaining things?”

“...”

“If I sold your gift at once, I would gain both a mountain of steel gold coins and the attention of Your Highness. What lowly wretch would dare sell something bestowed by the Iron Prince the moment he received it? No one has done it before because it would be disrespectful. But... disrespectful or not, would it not be entertaining? Unpredictable, too.”

“... Heh. Heh heh heh.”

“You would never punish a gladiator who did something so entertaining. Instead, you would give him more, and offer him many opportunities, so you could see just how far that disrespectful gladiator could take his antics. Then I would run wild without hesitation. I assure you, I could sell even the crown the Iron Prince is to wear.”

“Heh, hahahaha! You—I like you immensely. Immensely!”

Ian Chervil burst out laughing, his voice louder than before.

“Sword Demon. If your sword were just a little sharper, I would take you to the blade city this very moment. And I would cherish you as much as I do my Carlos.”

“... It would be an honor.”

Carlos.

I flinched briefly at the name, but barely managed to suppress my emotions.

I could not let them show. Not now.

“It has been a very long time since I laughed so heartily. Heh heh.”

“I am honored to have amused you.”

“Then will you amuse me once more?”

“In what way...?”

Ian Chervil said,

“It would spoil the fun to tell you beforehand.”

“...”

“I shall think about it while watching your ridiculous, lowly struggles. There is still one final duel left in this uproar the Arena's clowns have organized, is there not?”

His eyes gleamed with madness.

“The Endless Duel. Amuse me once more there, and I shall reward you.”

With that, Ian Chervil slowly rose from his seat.

“Sword Demon.”

“Yes.”

“What is your real name? I shall remember it.”

At his question, I remained silent for a moment.

Then I answered.

“Would it not spoil the fun to tell you beforehand?”

Ian Chervil smiled in satisfaction at my answer.

“I knew I liked you.”

Leaving only those words behind, the Iron Prince who had arrived like a storm departed.

* * *

Countless guests continued to visit after the Iron Prince left. But I could no longer take in their offers. Ian Chervil's visit had left that powerful an impression. Countless doubts swirled through my mind.

Why had the great Iron Prince visited me in person and laid his madness bare? Why had he conversed with a mere gladiator whose origins were uncertain, and declared that he would reward a mere sword walker? I could not understand. Truly, I understood none of it.

If the Iron Prince truly was a bored prince driven mad by his pursuit of amusement, it made sense. But could the monster who had carried out a bloody purge unprecedented in Chervil's history and become the sole heir to the throne... really be such a simple madman? I did not know. The swirling doubts tormented me.

What sort of man was the Iron Prince?

Why had the sole heir to the throne come in person, concealing his identity, to mingle at a festival for the lowly? How should I conduct myself in the final match, the Endless Duel? Questions arose one after another. Among them, one tormented me most.

Who had wielded Carlos's sword... the sword that destroyed everything I had? Had Swordmaster Carlos committed that madness of his own accord, or had it been the will of the Iron Prince he served? I knew nothing. There was nothing I could find out. In the vast Iron Kingdom, I was merely one swordsman, an insignificant speck of dust.

Whose malice had drenched my territory in blood? Why had we had to disappear? Why had such a thing happened at all...?

There was nothing I could find out.

And so I still could not accept it.

I could not accept that I knew none of those things. I could not accept that, despite such a horrific atrocity, not a single person had suffered divine punishment. I could not accept that the swordmaster who had taken what I cherished lived under the same sky as me, showered with praise.

I was confused, but nothing had changed.

In the end, I had to fight.

In the end, I had to take up my sword.

If I were not a mere sword walker.

If I were not an insignificant, lowly gladiator barely making a name for myself in this steel city. If my sword were sharp enough to make everyone fear it, everything would have been different. So I had to become a sword that could reach anyone.

Yes.

The conclusion was the same.

To avoid being swept away by the raging maelstrom, to stand firm at its center, I had to grow stronger. I had to reach heights incomparable to where I stood now.

「Young descendant.」

“Yes.”

「There is no need to let yourself be tossed about. As always, you need only walk the path you must follow.」

Liam spoke calmly.

「For now, you will be tossed about endlessly. You must feel terribly small, as though your sword could never leave a mark upon this world. But that is not so.」

“...”

「The Iron Prince, that infant, said he sought nothing but amusement. He babbled like a madman, saying anything was acceptable so long as it entertained him. He treated you as a clown, though you have come this far without breaking, and laughed as he declared he would watch your struggles for his own amusement.」

“...”

「I promise you this.」

Liam's eyes were like blades.

Blades incomparably sharper and harder than the eyes of Iron Prince Ian Chervil. Eyes of true steel, which the gaze of this kingdom's master could not dare rival.

「The moment the blood of steel flowing through your body truly awakens, the Iron Prince will no longer find you amusing. He will no longer be able to smile before you.」

“...”

「In my age, ironblood was a word reserved for Caravan alone.」

Liam grinned.

「There is only one steel beneath the heavens. Through you, the world will relearn what it has forgotten. In a way it will never be able to forget again.」

As always, Master showed me a clear path. Only then did the questions swirling in my head begin to subside.

And then.

“... Could we speak for a moment?”

That night, unexpected guests visited me once again.

“... There is something we wish to ask the descendant of steel.”

Witches.

It seemed the maelstrom was not over yet.

* * *

On the outskirts of the steel city of Perma.

Unlike the other parts of the city, bustling with excitement for the upcoming final event, the Endless Duel, one inn on the outskirts was strangely quiet. Not a single gladiator sat chatting over a beer, nor were there any drunks debating who would win or who would compete. The inn was empty. Some exalted personage had rented the entire establishment.

Thus, only one man sat silently on the inn's ground floor. With silence radiating from him, neither the normally talkative landlady nor her female employees dared speak.

After that uncomfortable silence had lingered for a long while, the inn's door creaked open.

“You have returned at last.”

The newcomer was a young man with a boyish face. More precisely, a young man poised between boyhood and adulthood. The instant he entered, he removed the hood covering his head, sending his ash-gray hair fluttering beautifully. The employees and the landlady did not dare look at that hair. How could subjects living in the Iron Kingdom look directly upon their kingdom's true master?

“Did you find the lowly gladiator entertaining?”

“Yes. His skill with words is as fine as your skill with a sword.”

“Then take him with you as a companion for conversation.”

“I am sorely tempted. But how could I?”

The young man, Iron Prince Ian Chervil, strode forward. He stopped directly before the solitary seated man.

“I could hardly presume to make a true descendant of steel a conversation partner for someone like me.”

“...”

“You broke your promise, Carlos.”

Ian Chervil watched the man—Carlos—with dispassionate eyes.

“A remnant of Caravan remains. Yet you distinctly told me you had completely erased the remnants of steel from this land.”

“... I erased them completely.”

“Yes. By your standards.”

Ian Chervil gave a sinister smile.

“He was no older than eighteen. And his heart has not even properly matured yet. Had I not looked closely, I might not have recognized him. He was so soft and tender.”

“... If you wish to punish me, I will accept it willingly.”

At Carlos's words, Ian Chervil burst into laughter.

A chilling, maniacal laugh.

“Punish you? Why would I punish you?”

“...”

“Well done! Very well done! Neither the nighttime walks I enjoyed on the way to the steel city, nor the cool breeze, nor the night scenery excited me like this. The Endless Duel? I took some fleeting pleasure in that event for the lowly, but now it no longer matters in the slightest.”

As he spoke, Ian Chervil thrust his face close.

“Coming here was indeed an excellent decision. The nine goddesses and seven chief gods must have pitied my tedious existence. That is why they left me some amusement to enjoy. My brothers, who crumbled so easily! My sisters, sobbing and begging me to stop because I had flayed their children! My weak father, sobbing that he would make me his heir if only I would put down my sword! My father's other wives, who hanged themselves once my brothers and sisters were dead! At last, I feel my heart filling with what those frail, weak creatures could never give me.”

“...”

“Breaking your promise? It does not matter. Is this not more entertaining anyway? You see, I feared I would ascend the Iron Throne far too easily. I feared that, having broken those who amused me much too soon, I might live a smooth, tedious life until the day I died. But, but fortunately, one still remained. There was still one blade left that could be turned upon me...”

“Heh heh.” Unable to contain himself, Ian Chervil laughed again.

“I must bring the plan forward. The bloodshed will begin a little sooner.”

Carlos watched Ian Chervil with an impassive face, his expression unchanged.

Ian Chervil said,

“That fellow was more audacious than I expected, Carlos. Do you know what name he used as a gladiator? Liam. He entered the Endless Duel under that very name.”

“...”

“That alone told me how ignorant he was. This Endless Duel will spread his name across the entire continent. And everyone who remembers the forgotten age will take an interest in him. The specters of the Age of War.”

Ian Chervil smiled.

“I do hope a little gust does not sweep him away and kill him. Ah, had I known such tedious days awaited me, I would have treated those who gave me little pleasures more gently. Who could have known they would all break after just a little play?”

“...”

“I must pray that the last descendant of steel is not caught in the maelstrom and broken. When I return to the palace, I shall summon the high priest and offer a prayer. Gods, please do not take away my last toy...”

Carlos watched Ian Chervil.

Reading his expression and his voice, he realized that not a single lie tainted the words of the Iron Prince standing before him. This mad prince was genuinely delighted that a descendant of Caravan had survived. Truly, genuinely delighted.

“Carlos.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Most records concerning Caravan have been erased. Even I know little about them. That is why I wish to ask: can the last descendant of Caravan turn his blade upon me before he passes eighteen?”

“I do not know.”

He did not know. That was the truth.

“No one knows what heights his sword will reach. Only the nine goddesses and seven chief gods would know.”

“What if he reaches the same heights as you?”

“That is impossible. Throughout history, only one swordsman has ever become a swordmaster so quickly.”

“And that one was a Caravan, was he not? That is why I ask.”

Strangely, Ian Chervil looked expectant as he proposed that possibility. As though he desperately wished someone would hold a blade to his throat.

“... It is impossible. But, but if we stack one hypothetical upon another and assume that such a situation truly comes to pass, I will answer.”

“Yes. Go on—”

“If the last Caravan forges a sword, no one will be able to stop him.”

Carlos spoke firmly.

“A new order will be established upon this continent. And all seven races of the continent will bow their heads before it and beg for their lives.”

“...”

“Just as they did in the distant past, in the Age of Steel.”

At Carlos's words, Ian Chervil fell silent for a moment. Slowly, a light entered the eyes of the stunned Iron Prince. A brilliantly glittering light. With it, his cheeks flushed red. His mouth curved into a smile so wide it nearly reached his ears.

“Ah.”

Ian Chervil murmured in a voice filled with rapture.

“I knew it... I do like you, Carlos.”

“...”

“And this world, where amusement wells up without end...”