CHAPTER 15

A Secret Strategy of My Own (2)

"A duel on that bridge? Even better."

Lachiel smirked.

If the emperor wanted to play it this way, then he wanted to win even more.

However, Sir Gardin seemed to have a different opinion.

"Your Highness, this is too much. No matter if it's His Majesty's decision… this is just too cruel, don't you think…?"

Sir Gardin was on the verge of tears, clutching onto Lachiel's sleeve.

"Your Highness, this isn't right. Why don't you return to the palace immediately?"

"Return? Why?"

"Why? To meet His Majesty, of course."

"And then what?"

"Ask him to cancel today's decision. No, at the very least, request that he reconsider. You never know. His Majesty might change his mind."

"You really think so?"

"…What?"

"Unfortunately, I don't."

"What do you mean…?"

"The duel will be held on the Roy-Harvey Bridge, where thousands, maybe tens of thousands of citizens in the capital can watch. Do you think His Majesty made that decision on a whim? No. Absolutely not."

"Then…"

"It means this is a decision with political intentions and objectives."

Of course, the intent was to broadcast his defeat to the entire capital.

To instill the image that the second prince was the better fit for a future leader.

As a result, the second prince would gain an even stronger claim to legitimacy.

'People may feel sympathy for the loser, but they would hesitate to accept that loser as their ruler.'

That's just how people were.

No matter how the duel played out, no matter how much sympathy the defeated gained, in the end, a loser was just a loser.

And people would not accept a loser as their leader.

On the other hand, the victor would be granted immense legitimacy.

'The problem is that everyone—except for me—expects the second prince to win.'

The thought made him chuckle bitterly.

The emperor, the nobles, the citizens, the second prince himself—even Sir Gardin, who stood beside him.

Not a single person believed in the possibility of his victory.

'Well, at least there's no pressure.'

If anything, it felt liberating.

Now he was determined to shatter everyone's expectations.

From that day forward, with fourteen days until the duel, Lachiel devoted himself to preparation.

'Three times. If I can block his attacks just three times, then I win.'

A secret strategy he had devised.

A plan built on calculations and predictions.

Based on that, he focused on building the stamina needed to withstand three defenses.

It wasn't anything extravagant.

Just enough endurance to keep from collapsing after blocking three strikes.

"Huff… Huff…"

At first, he simply walked down the corridors of his palace.

Slowly, without rushing, never stopping.

He walked for twenty minutes. Then rested for five. Walked again.

Twenty-five minutes, thirty minutes—the time he could walk steadily increased.

His frail legs were soon covered in painful blisters.

"…Ughhh."

By the next morning, excruciating muscle pain had set in.

His thighs, the back of his legs, even his hips screamed in agony.

Sitting and standing made him groan, his legs trembling beneath him.

And worst of all—going down the stairs.

Unfortunately, his bedroom was on the second floor.

'Goddamn it, my stamina is pathetic. Just one day of walking, and I'm already like this?'

But giving up was not an option.

To execute his strategy against the second prince's attacks, lower body strength was essential.

'If my legs are weak or stiff, I'm done for. I won't be able to absorb or deflect any impact.'

So he had to strengthen them as much as possible now.

'At least to the level of a normal person.'

So he walked. And walked some more.

He went down to the first floor.

Stepped out into the garden.

Amid the fresh air and beautiful flowers, he trudged along, groaning like an old man.

"Argh… damn it!"

Of course, he also made sure to eat properly.

His condition didn't allow him to eat solid meats, and his digestion was weak.

So he ordered the palace chef to grind everything into soups.

At every meal, he ate until he was about to burst, packing his mana slots with nutritional broth.

And then he walked. Walked, rested, staggered, walked again.

But soon, it wasn't just his muscles complaining.

Ding!

[You are overexerting your body with excessive activity. Such strain may worsen your condition.]

[Your organs are protesting due to the sudden increase in workload.]

[They wish to clock out on time. They long for a balanced life. Please consider their work-life balance for the sake of your health.]

'Shut up.'

Ding!

[Your organs have sent you a message.]

[Heart: Hey! We're all gonna die here!]

[Lungs: Hu…huff… huff… huff…]

[Intestines: You want me to loosen up completely? Wouldn't that be fun?]

'…Shut up!'

He ignored the barrage of complaints.

This wasn't the time for such nonsense.

The second prince was not an easy opponent.

Even with all his planning and strategies, victory was not guaranteed.

'I just want to give up.'

Whenever exhaustion hit, that thought surfaced.

But he couldn't afford to surrender.

'No. If I lose, the second prince takes the throne… and ruins the nation.'

And if that happened, he'd either be caught in the ensuing chaos and die, or survive as a beggar.

A fate far worse than dying in his sickbed.

'Not happening. No way.'

Every time he wanted to quit, he reminded himself of this.

He pushed himself to the brink, walking, resting, eating.

Supplying his body with mana-infused soup.

Undergoing acupuncture at night to relieve muscle fatigue.

Sleeping deeply.

One day, two days, five days…

As time passed, his steps grew steadier.

More stable steps meant less wasted stamina.

More stamina meant he could walk longer.

More walking meant stronger muscles and tendons.

And finally, on the thirteenth day—

"…Huff! Huff!"

He was able to run.

And then—he received an unexpected message.

Ding!

[You have continuously pushed your body to its limits with high-intensity exercise.]

[During this process, you have maintained an ideal balance of rest and nutrition, gradually improving your health.]

[As a result, your endurance has slightly increased.]

[Heart rank has improved: F -> D]

[Your heart can now maintain a steady rhythm for 10 seconds even in extreme physical conditions.]

[Lung rank has improved: F -> D]

[Your lungs can now endure strong impacts to the chest or abdomen twice without losing breath.]

[Heart has sponsored you with 100 HP.]

[Lungs are overjoyed and have sponsored you with 200 HP.]

[Current HP: 800]

"Huh?"

Lachiel stopped mid-run, eyes wide.

His heart and lung ranks had improved.

And he'd even received HP as a bonus.

An unexpected yet welcome gift.

'This kind of present? Always welcome.'

A satisfied smile formed on his lips.

The suffering had paid off.

And tomorrow was the duel.

The time had come for the final touch.

"Sir Gardin."

He called for his knight after finishing his cooldown exercises.

"Bring me some alcohol. The strongest ones you have."

"…Pardon?"

"What, the palace doesn't have any?"

"Of course, we do, but—"

"Then what's the problem?"

"Why… why do you need alcohol?"

"Obviously, to drink it."

"…What?"

Sir Gardin's eyes widened in horror.

"You plan to drink? In your condition?"

"Yeah. So bring only the strongest ones."

Gardin's face contorted in panic.

"Your Highness, why…?"

"Because I need it to win."

At that moment, Lachiel's face was not that of someone accepting an honorable defeat.

It was the face of a man preparing for an utterly shameless, underhanded victory.