The Hero King, Reincarnate to Master the Art of War ~And Thus, I Became The Strongest Knight Disciple (♀) in The World~-Novel

In the Chiral Royal Capital, nestled within the grandeur of the royal castle’s large conference room, influential lords from across the nation convened. Their assembly followed the jubilant celebrations marking the downfall of the Prisma. Now, the royal castle was abuzz with daily meetings, discussing the future course of action concerning Venefique and Alucard. It was fortuitous that these lords had already gathered in the capital for the prior festivities.

Liselotte was present, not as a mere attendant but as the protector of her father, the Duke of Althea. Although he had stepped down as Prime Minister, his influence remained immense, with a dominion that spanned the western coast of Charalia and included the city of Shealot. His personal knights, part of a chivalric order, were renowned for their prowess. Yet, on this day, Liselotte had insisted on being his guard. Since her mother’s passing, the father-daughter duo had only each other, making their presence at the event more poignant—a familial bond reaffirmed.

The day’s discussion centered on Venefique, their enigmatic neighbor to the east.

“Alucard has extended formal apologies through a messenger and even aided us in our conflict against Prisma. Yet what of Venefique? They’ve repeatedly invaded our lands, causing incalculable harm! Now they dare to strike at our royal heartland, without offering a single word of remorse! Furthermore, intelligence suggests it was they who unleashed the Prisma upon us!” The fervor in Duke Rigriff’s voice was unmistakable, the new Prime Minister stepping into the role once held by Liselotte’s father.

Prince Wayne’s voice was a quiet contrast to the Prime Minister’s fervor as he accepted his share of the responsibility. “However, Prime Minister Rigriff… it was us who transported the frozen Prisma to the border to begin with. It should have been clear that we would provoke them. We are not without fault, but the true fault lies with me, who devised the plan…”

King Charleas then sought to console his son, offering a balanced perspective on the events that unfolded. “The Prisma was spawning Magic Stone Beasts even while encased in ice, wreaking havoc. Your actions, though not without consequence, were necessary. Had the Prisma been directed towards Venefique rather than us, it could have presented an opportunity for a united front. Despite the less-than-ideal results, Inglis and her companions prevented our utter ruin. You’re not to blame, Wayne.”

“Father… I am sorry,” the Prince murmured, his regret evident.

“I do not seek to cast blame upon His Highness Prince Wayne! Yet, the stark reality remains that many within my domain have suffered the loss of life and property due to the Prisma’s invasion,” asserted Prime Minister Rigriff, his voice resonating with the weight of his words.

Prime Minister Rigriff’s territory sprawled across the eastern reaches of Charalia, sharing its boundaries with the Venefique region. His dukedom, a vast expanse of land, stood as the largest in the east of the country, where the Prisma’s destructive path had left an indelible mark.

“This plea I voice not merely as Prime Minister but as a guardian to my people who dwell beside those of Venefique! Grant us the chance to reclaim what was stolen! The unexpectedly low casualties and damages from the Prisma skirmish have presented us with a silver lining—an opportunity to march upon Venefique! We must uproot the malevolence before it ensnares us once more!” Rigriff’s proclamation thundered through the chamber, rallying a chorus of agreement from his fellow lords.

“Your Majesty, Your Highness! The Prime Minister speaks the truth!”

“My lands too bear the scars of devastation, and my people yearn for recompense for their losses!”

“Luck is on our side; they have forfeited their invading forces to our knights! Their ranks have dwindled—now is our chance to retaliate!”

“““Indeed, it is so!”””

The accord was palpable as several voices unified with Prime Minister Rigriff’s stance. Observing the assembly, Liselotte pondered whether the majority were lords from the eastern territories. The region had suffered frequent incursions by the Venetian army and had cultivated a deep-seated animosity towards Venefique.

The bubbling hostility seemed poised to overflow. Positioned near the wall, Liselotte watched her father and contemplated—could war with Venefique truly be on the horizon?

Despite their radical views, Liselotte found herself empathizing with Prime Minister Rigriff and the other nobles. Nonetheless, the perilous reality persisted: Prism Flow could strike indiscriminately at any moment, birthing a Prisma that might unleash havoc upon the people. To instigate a war amongst ourselves in the face of such an omnipresent threat seemed an act of folly.

Perhaps for the eastern lords, the Magic Stone Beasts and the Venetian forces were equally foreign adversaries. Liselotte’s perspective might have been clouded, her judgment spared by the distance of her western dukedom from Venefique’s incursions.

Yet, having engaged wholeheartedly in the fray against the Prisma, Liselotte could not condone the notion that minimal casualties justified redirecting efforts towards Venefique. That fierce battle was not waged to fuel a war between nations.

“We didn’t fight to make war…” she murmured, violating the strict code of silence mandated for sentinels. Memories of those who had stood by her in battle flooded her thoughts—Leone, Rafinha, Plum, Lahti, all shared her sentiment. And then, the image of Inglis surfaced—

“Uuh…”

A wave of dizziness overcame Liselotte. Inglis, ever the warrior, would undoubtedly exclaim with glee, “Yay! I’ll be at the vanguard!” and lead the charge, her smile as wide as the horizon. Rafinha could manage her—Liselotte preferred to spare herself the worry.

Rafinha’s greatness stemmed not just from her prowess as a knight; it was her innate ability to guide Inglis, a testament to her humane charm.

Inglis’ formidable presence—surpassing any ordinary person in battle with strength, intellect, and beauty—was a source of both inspiration and concern. Her pleasant demeanor and attentiveness made her a joy to be around. Yet, like all, she was not without flaws; her relentless pursuit of strength often blinded her to the moral compass.

If left to her own devices, she could easily stray from the path. Thankfully, Rafinha was there, steadfast, ensuring Inglis remained grounded and steered towards the right course.¹

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