Hard Carried by My Sword-Chapter 133

The Vultures wasn’t something Lyon had thrown together on a whim. Originally, it was meant to be an organization to support him once he became the Hero, but when that plan collapsed, its direction shifted into a full-fledged armed force.

Just as the name implied—carrion-eating raptors—they recruited without regard for birth. They snatched up talent like prey and swelled their strength.

Though driven into exile, Lyon was still royalty. He seized slush funds and safehouses hidden abroad, gathering money.

He rattled what little remained of his intelligence network, offering extravagant terms without hesitation. Lyon extended a hand to those shunned for unjust reasons: knights born of common blood who never had a chance to shine, or distant descendants of noble houses ruined by false charges.

And it wasn’t only those he sought who came. There were war fanatics who sniffed out blood like beasts, adventurers and mercenaries hungry for rank, and even nobles and knights who had barely survived the Mad Emperor’s purges. All those scattered remnants gathered, placing their hopes on Lyon alone.

Even broken troops, when scraped together, make for numbers after all.

Lyon thought, leaning back in his chair. He calculated the size of the force he’d assembled. By headcount alone, it was still short of a single thousand-man unit, but, in terms of quality—talent and ability—the level was certain.

Enough, perhaps, to stand against twenty percent of the capital’s defense forces. Of course, if a few knight orders or mage battalions were dispatched, they’d be crushed in moments.

This is still not enough.

From the start, he hadn’t imagined a full-scale war. How could a mere guerrilla force contend with the strength of the greatest northern empire, built over centuries? It was impossible.

Even with ten or twenty times their current strength, victory was hopeless. Unless he could field powers that could tip the scale heavily, such as multiple Swordmasters or Archmagi, it was foolish to even compare to the Empire, which held nearly a third of the continent.

I also don’t understand why the Emperor is acting this way.

For one who had studied kingship, Lyon found the current Emperor’s policies incomprehensible from beginning to end. Openly scorning the frontier nobles and leaving rioters, who were certain to become rebels, unchecked, was outrageous when looked at from a tactical perspective.

If the Emperor were simply foolish, that would have been fortunate, but that was impossible. A bastard son of the late Emperor, abandoned in a remote palace, who clawed his way up from nothing to seize the throne—such a man could not be foolish.

“Sigh...”

No matter how he thought about it, no answer came. With a long sigh, Lyon closed his burning eyes.

It had been that way ever since he left the Academy. Body and mind, never once allowed true rest. Perhaps even before that—ever since the moment he realized he could never be the Hero.

A Hero, huh...

If he shut his eyes, he could still recall that interaction with Saintess Elahan clearly. The silver-haired, golden-eyed girl had asked him a question.

“If you had to choose between being the Emperor of Clyde or the Hero of this world... which would you choose?”

He couldn’t answer.

“What if Clyde was the root of evil threatening the world? Could you treat imperial citizens and outsiders with equal regard? What if there were far more urgent matters than reclaiming the throne?”

To every question, he had no words. Unable to face her, he squeezed his eyes shut. Yet Elahan hadn’t been disappointed, because she had never expected anything of him to begin with.

“Reclaiming the throne from a tyrant and ushering in peace—yes, those are noble goals. But...”

She had turned away, and her words still rang clear: “That is not the Hero’s task.”

It was a truth that shook the foundations of Lyon’s life, a life raised from birth with the expectation of becoming the Hero. Perhaps that was why, on the day of his long-awaited coming-of-age, the Holy Sword had not chosen his hand. No, more than that—it had sought the hand of the one who had defeated him and left.

Leon.

It was an unforgettable name.

His Academy life had meant little to him beyond seclusion, but there he had met two people: Leon and Chloe. Peers his own age, whom he’d never known as a prince.

One was a smiling girl who approached without guile.

“Your name is Lyon? Sounds just like Leon!”

The other was a boy who never gave up, no matter how many hundreds of defeats.

“This time, I won’t lose...!”

One stayed at his side, as lover and vassal. The other gave him his first bitter defeat, then left far away. His first loss, at that.

Lyon knew well how much he’d been given at birth. Talent for martial arts, endless draughts of elixirs since before he could even remember, teachers who were all masters of renown, and never once had anything cheap touched his body.

Compared to Leon, who had no elixirs, no proper teachers, and had beaten his body half to death in ignorance, the difference was heaven and earth. And yet, the one who lost was him.

“I win, Lyon.”

Born with everything, defeated by one with nothing.

“I don’t have anything I want right now. If I think of something, I’ll let you know then. That's alright with you?”

In that fight he should never have lost, Lyon stood frozen in defeat, while Leon turned his back with an easy heart. It was his first win after three years of duels, yet he showed no joy. Without even leaving the chance for a rematch, Leon left the Academy.

When Lyon realized his mistake, he was filled with regret.

If I had known that duel would be the last, if I could have accepted defeat then...

He would not have asked Leon what he wanted for winning the duel. Certain of his victory, he had narrowed his sight, missing his chance to speak openly. He never offered praise or respect to his victor, nor words promising a rematch.

And so they parted. Leon, with no regrets, Lyon, with a heavy stone lodged in his heart.

Just then, a couple of dull knocks came, and Lyon blinked his eyes wide open.

“Who is it? The meeting isn’t for some time yet.”

Perhaps it was being dragged from deep thought, but his voice turned sharp. As if in answer, the door opened.

Carrying a tray with two cups of coffee, she entered. Someone with blond hair and blue eyes. A beautiful girl whose colors matched his own, Chloe winked as she spoke.

“Shall I leave, Your Highness?”

Lyon chuckled, shaking his head at her playful tone, and replied, “No, come in.”

Only when he was alone with Chloe did he feel any ease. Perhaps it was because she reminded him of the Academy days—the most peaceful time of his life. More so than even the luxuries of the Imperial Palace.

With an even face, Lyon raised the cup and said, “Bitter today.” 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

Using the taste of coffee as an excuse, he let out a faint smile.

***

The two spoke for quite some time. Ever since Lyon had organized the Vultures, there had been no leisure for them to spend time alone.

Recruiting talent, probing the continent’s affairs, training his own martial skills, keeping track of his men’s moods and conditions—he should have had ten bodies just to keep up. With all of that falling solely to him, there was no chance to simply relax with his lover. Only by stealing moments like this could they talk in private.

“Ah, right. Did you hear?” Chloe said as she clapped her hands lightly together.

“Hear what?”

Setting down his empty cup, Lyon tilted his head. The coffee was already starting to kick in; the haze was gone from his eyes, sharp light returning.

Chloe shrugged as if she’d expected that and continued, “Leon. Yesterday’s news said an adventurer named Leon was chosen as the top contributor of the expedition in Jugend. The looks, the age—it’s him. It has to be the Leon we know.”

“Leon is in Jugend...?”

“Mhm. And with that achievement, he’s been promoted to A-rank. He might even come to the Empire. What if we run into him?”

At those words, Lyon found himself unconsciously hoping. Chloe didn’t know it yet, but Leon was no longer someone even royalty could treat lightly.

The Hero. The one who could command the Holy Iron Inquisitors and the Saintess as he wished—the very symbol of the Holy Church’s military power.

It wasn’t without reason that Lyon had sought to defeat the Mad Emperor as the Hero. If only he could have become one, he could have mustered power enough to fill the gaps.

This is probably the very reason why I couldn’t become the Hero.

A bitter smile crept onto his tightly pressed lips. Even after the Saintess had pointed it out once, he hadn’t let go of his obsession. Lyon chuckled inwardly at his own foolishness.

Yet still, he couldn’t keep himself from hoping. Perhaps this was a chance to mend the bond that had been severed.

Maybe now, things would be different.

Perhaps even after revealing himself as a prince, they could stand on equal ground. It was something he had never dared to expect of anyone.

Without thinking, Lyon said, “Chloe... How would you feel if Leon were the Hero?”

“Leon...? The Hero?”

“Yeah.”

Chloe blinked at the sudden question, then pondered before answering—an answer Lyon hadn’t expected.

“It doesn’t suit him... and yet, if you think again, it does?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He tilted his head at the puzzling reply.

“Leon’s never had that flashy feeling. But no matter how many times he falls or stumbles, he never gives up, and he always manages what everyone else says is impossible.”

“...”

“I used to think about it often. That the truly special one wasn’t me—it was Leon.”

Her eyes grew distant with old memories. Born and raised so close together, yet she never fully understood the strength of her childhood friend until the very end. She had half-disdained his diligence without knowing.

“Rain or snow, Leon always climbed the mountain, swinging his sword until his palms split open.”

“That, he did...”

“And not just that. He ran until he was dry-heaving, trained until his hands were so torn there wasn’t a single line left on his palms. I... I don’t know anyone else who could live like that except Leon.”

Lyon reflexively glanced at his own palms. Calloused, molded by the sword’s grip, yet still with lines plain to see. Tens of thousands of swings, hundreds of thousands—and this was all.

How many, then, had Leon done? A chill crept down his spine.

At least three million. Repetition of the basics had no meaning—or so he thought. However, the reality that there existed someone who had repeated meaningless toil without reward, that alone sent a faint shiver through him.

And at the same time, he admitted it. If indomitable will was the essence of the Hero, then nowhere on the continent could there be a man more fitting than Leon.

“Right...”

Lyon accepted that, idly rolling his cup between his hands.

Chloe grinned mischievously and asked, “Still bitter about losing to Leon the last time?”

“Hm?”

“You suddenly saying, ‘What if Leon were the Hero’ —I thought it was a joke at first, but you looked serious.”

“Well, I was serious,” Lyon smirked at her dumbfounded face.

“If Leon’s the Hero, then even as Emperor I couldn’t treat him lightly. I thought... maybe we could speak as equals again, like before.”

“Is that really all?” Chloe asked, knowing.

“I... I would like to return the favor, just once.”

“Ahahaha!”

When Lyon turned away at having his heart seen through, Chloe laughed until she teared up.

Wiping her eyes, she said, “See? The two of you are more alike than you think.”

“Who?”

“Who else but you and Leon? Both hating to lose, both hiding their true feelings. Next time you meet, whichever of you wins, you’ll just challenge each other again. It’s worrying, really.”

“Do I seem that childish?”

“Yes.”

“Hah. Acting superior over being a year older.”

At that, Chloe’s eyes froze like ice, and she said, “I told you not to bring up age.”

“Sorry.”

“Next time, I won’t let it slide.”

The heavy mood vanished, and the two spent the rest of their time on all the conversations they’d put off.

Then, a couple of knocks came. At last, the meeting of the Vultures was upon them. Gilbert, on the other side of the door, spoke softly.

“Your Highness, the meeting is prepared.”

At once, Lyon’s smile was gone. He could show no weakness before subordinates whose loyalty was uncertain. He needed to project charisma so absolute that no one dared climb above him.

Expressionless. Emotionless. Lyon’s face became unreadable as he opened the door.

“To the conference hall, Fourth Captain.”

Chloe, equally composed, followed.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

The Vultures were divided into five units, and her Fourth Unit corresponded to a mage unit.

Trained by a former court mage, Chloe had already reached the sixth-tier. Barely at its entry, true, but she was a genius, already brushing the seventh—what the world called the threshold of Archmage.

Crossing the doorway, they were no longer lovers.

“Arrive first, check for spies and eavesdroppers.”

“As ordered.”

As Chloe stepped ahead, a faint shadow passed over Lyon’s now expressionless face. A shadow dark and heavy—one that had never left him for some time now.