Chapter 68

While the aftermath hadn't quite descended into total pandemonium, the task of restoring order was chaotic in the extreme.

They couldn't simply leave the unconscious guests where they lay, so they had to be carried to vacant rooms. Even those who remained conscious were trembling with such terror that they needed to be ushered into separate quarters to calm down. Watching this scene from the corner of his eye, Harold decided to take the initiative and retreat to his assigned room for a self-imposed period of confinement.

As the source of the trouble, his assistance would likely only worsen their condition; furthermore, the glares from those still in the hall were becoming increasingly painful to endure.

Erika was busy nursing the fallen men, while Francis continued to woo her even as he helped. Itsuki, naturally, was trying to put a stop to it.

Judging that there was nothing more he could do, Harold shrugged his shoulders and beat a hasty retreat. He felt a bit sorry for Itsuki, but he figured that Francis would be enough to handle things.

Francis J. Arclight.

He possessed wavy blonde hair and emerald-green eyes. While he was a bit of a narcissist and gave off a frivolous, almost flighty impression when it came to women, he was a man with a surprisingly solid core. His nickname was Fran.

In combat, he wielded a rapier, but he lacked significant firepower. In the game, his physical attack stat was the second lowest in the party, just behind Lifa, and easily sat below the likes of Erika and Colette. To compensate, he had access to a vast array of magic—including healing spells—but since his MP was also set low, his overall utility was somewhat lacking.

Contrary to his flamboyant personality, the term "jack-of-all-trades, master of none" fit him perfectly. He looked every bit the storybook prince—which wasn't surprising, as he was actually thirty-seventh in the line of succession to the throne.

That said, he didn't harbor a shred of hope or expectation that the crown would ever fall to him, nor did he have any desire to be king. He seemed perfectly content with the status quo, living a life of leisure using the title of Prince merely as a convenient label.

As his profile suggested, he was another character from the Original Story.

If one could overlook his insatiable weakness for beautiful women and his tendency to woo them without restraint, he wasn't a bad enough man to truly loathe. After all, in the game, he joined Rainer’s party out of a sense of righteous indignation—a duty he felt as a leader of the people, despite downplaying his status as a prince "for the time being." That was not a feat many could claim.

Therefore, it wasn't at all strange that he had suddenly started pursuing Erika; there had been similar depictions in the game as well. What was unexpected, however, was his claim that he would no longer lay a hand on other women.

To put it bluntly, a Francis who stopped being a womanizer was like a Harold who didn't spit insults. It was an event that defied imagination.

Had he really fallen that hard for Erika? In the game, he should have viewed her as just one among many beautiful women, but given the level of passion he was displaying now, it was clear he was more infatuated than in the Original Story.

Try as he might, Harold couldn't think of a reason for the change.

(Well, maybe Erika just grew up to be more beautiful than she was in the original game?)

That was the limit of Harold’s speculation; he had no way of knowing the true cause.

Well, whatever, he thought, stretching his limbs to clear his head.

Looking out the window, he saw that the clear skies of yesterday had persisted. Despite the drama, he had managed to get a decent night's sleep and was feeling physically fit.

Thinking idly that breakfast on a day like this would be delicious, Harold recalled the floor plan of the mansion and headed toward the dining hall.

Breakfast appeared to be buffet-style, but it wasn't a self-service affair. It was a high-society buffet where chefs prepared dishes on the spot upon request.

Deciding that meat was the only proper choice for a morning like this, Harold was searching for an empty seat with a plate of sliced steak in hand when it happened.

"Oh."

"Hmm?"

"...Tch."

His eyes met Francis’s, who was already seated. The prince reacted, which drew Itsuki's attention toward him as well. Harold reflexively clicked his tongue.

Sensing that things were about to get tedious, he tried to ignore them, but he was promptly called out.

"Wait. I’d like a word."

"If it’s about Erika, talk to her brother over there."

"No, that’s not it. I want to talk to you."

"So he says. Come, take a seat."

Before he knew it, Itsuki had circled behind him and gripped both his shoulders firmly, forcing him down into a chair.

Harold’s refreshing mood evaporated instantly, replaced by the urge to let out a long sigh.

"Fine. What do you want, you bastard?"

"Let’s start with introductions. I am Francis J. Arclight."

"I am Lord Stroose."

"You already knew my name, didn't you? Why is that?"

"I simply recognized the name. We have no prior acquaintance."

"I suppose that's true. I certainly don't have any memory of you."

Francis began to observe Harold intently. Ignoring the scrutiny, Harold began moving the steak from his plate to his mouth in rapid succession.

As he chewed the sliced meat, the juices flooded his palate. The texture was so tender it practically melted, requiring almost no effort to chew. Savory flavor permeated every bit of the meat and fat.

There was no need to voice how delicious it was. He simply continued to eat the rare, almost bleeding steak in silence.

"...The way you devour flesh and blood is terrifyingly fitting for you."

"I can't deny that," Itsuki added. "Even if his mouth were stained with blood, I feel like the impression that it 'suits him' would take priority over it being 'dirty.'"

"I imagine a glass of red wine would complete the look perfectly."

"So you're saying the red of blood is what's appropriate for me? Fine then. I'll gladly be stained by your splattered blood."

""We'll pass.""

Their responses overlapped. They might have been bickering over Erika, but they seemed to be genuine friends at heart.

However, the fact that Francis and Itsuki were friends was a piece of background lore that even Harold, with his encyclopedic knowledge of the game, had never heard of. It likely didn't even exist in the realm of fan fiction.

"Francis, if you're Itsuki's friend, how is it you didn't know about his sister?"

"I knew he had a sister, but I wasn't told she was that beautiful. Why did you keep that from me?"

"Because it was obvious it would turn out exactly like this. As if I'd let my precious sister become prey for a degenerate lecher."

It was a perfectly valid reason. If they were friends, Itsuki would have known about Francis's sordid history with women whether he wanted to or not. A siscon like Itsuki would never have introduced them properly.

From the sounds of it, they hadn't even informed Francis about this celebration to prevent him from meeting Erika, but luck was against them; he had heard of it through the grapevine and shown up anyway.

"Well, it doesn't matter. My romance with Erika begins no—" "It is not beginning." "......By the way, Lord."

Francis was forced into a very blatant change of subject by Itsuki’s blunt interruption, but Harold chose to let it slide.

"About yesterday's incident," Francis continued. "Itsuki told me you acted as Erika’s shield, but even so, don't you think you went a bit too far?"

"I merely grazed them with a bit of killing intent. It's the fault of those weaklings for not being able to withstand even that much."

"How many men do you think there are in this world who could remain composed after facing that head-on?"

"It would be a challenge even for Fran or me," Itsuki admitted.

"I honestly thought I'd been stabbed in the back and died," Francis said.

"Considering your lifestyle, I expect you'll eventually be stabbed by one of the women you've toyed with and experience the real thing."

"Your jokes have a nasty bite to them..."

Francis gave a strained smile. Harold decided to ask him a question point-blank.

"Yesterday, you blathered on about dedicating your heart to Erika. Were you actually serious?"

"Of course I'm serious. Knowing my past, it's only natural for you to doubt me, Lord, but I intend to settle my affairs with all other women immediately."

The eyes that met Harold’s were steady, and his voice held a weight of sincerity. Knowing the Francis from the game, the sense of wrongness was hard to shake, but perhaps this change was another ripple in a world that was drifting away from the Original Story.

If so, it wouldn't be entirely wrong to say the culprit was Harold himself.

Originally, Harold had thought Erika and Rainer should end up together simply because Rainer was the protagonist and Erika was a main party member. However, the game never explicitly depicted a romance between the two; in truth, it didn't really matter to Harold who Erika's partner ended up being.

The issue wasn't who she fell in love with, but whether she would eventually choose to sever her ties with Harold. In short, Harold’s internal sentiment was: Is it really so bad if she hooks up with Francis? He judged that this particular deviation wasn't something he needed to fear.

Though, whether Erika would ever accept Francis was a different matter entirely.

"Then why are you still here? Why don't you go wag your tail for Erika? That way, I can finish my meal without having to look at your face."

Harold gestured with his chin toward Erika, who had just entered the dining hall.

Just like the day before, she was already being swarmed by men. He didn't recognize their faces, but if any of them had been among the group he had terrified yesterday, they were remarkably persistent. Or perhaps Erika was simply that much of a "sinful woman."

"Hey now, Lord, that wasn't our agreement, was it?"

"I agreed to eliminate 'beasts no better than insects.' Does this man fall into that category?"

"That's..."

Itsuki was at a loss for words. Even he couldn't bring himself to describe his friend like that.

Which was exactly why Harold had framed it that way.

"I don't think this is the sort of conversation we should be having in front of the man himself... but can I take that as having obtained Itsuki's permission?"

"Yes, you have my blessing."

"No, absolutely not! If Lord won't move, then I will!"

Itsuki didn't wait. He immediately charged into the wall of men surrounding Erika. When the host of the party intervened, even the hungriest beasts were forced to transform into toothless cattle.

As Harold watched, the Sumeragi siblings unleashed their specialty: a high-pressure interrogation disguised behind polite smiles. Harold had been on the receiving end of that several times; it was a terrifyingly effective technique.

"It’s hard to find the right mood to whisper sweet nothings in a situation like that," Francis sighed.

"There wasn't any 'mood' to begin with yesterday."

After all, men had been slumped over like corpses all over the floor. Romance didn't stand a chance.

Especially since Harold had been standing right next to her.

"Is that so? I thought there was a certain moving quality to it—like a hero emerging from a battlefield to confess his love to the princess he protected."

"...If that's how it looks inside your head, then good for you. It's a matter of total indifference to me."

"Good grief, what a cold perspective. Well, I suppose if I go over there now, I’ll just get caught in the crossfire. More importantly..."

Francis’s expression shifted, losing its frivolous edge and taking on a cold, sharp intensity.

"Lord, I’d like to speak with you further. Could you spare me some time later?"

"It's a bother."

"Please, don't say that. If you feel like it, come to my room."

Leaving only those words behind, Francis stood up and departed.

For some reason, the prince had extended an invitation. Harold tilted his head, wondering what kind of talk would require a private room.

Normally, the most likely topic would be Erika. There were bound to be things Francis couldn't easily ask the lady herself or her overprotective brother. Harold wasn't sure if he could be of help, but utilizing his knowledge of the game’s setting materials, he figured he could probably satisfy the man by telling him Erika's three sizes or something.

Though, I guess there's no guarantee the Erika of this world has the same measurements as the one in the game, Harold thought as he finished his breakfast. He caught a servant and asked for the location of Francis's room.

He headed straight there and knocked on the door.

"It's Lord. If you're in there, open up."

The door opened almost instantly.

Seeing Harold’s face, Francis let out a surprised sound.

"You actually came."

"Is that your way of telling me to leave?"

"No. I was just surprised because I didn't think you actually would."

Despite being the one who invited him, that was a hell of a thing to say. If this were a conversation between a man and a woman, it would have been grounds for a lovers' spat.

"Anyway, please come in. Allow me to play host."

Urged inside, Harold stepped into the room. The layout was identical to his own; presumably, most of the guest rooms shared the same design.

Considering he was a prince, Harold figured the Berliozes would have provided a much higher-class suite without a single complaint if he had asked for one.

"But to think you really showed up."

"Is that the only thing you're capable of saying?"

"No. I just thought I might be being underestimated. Which would be quite regrettable."

"...What do you mean by that?"

"It means this."

Before Harold could gauge his intent, a rapier was thrust against his throat. The distance was less than a few millimeters—a gap no thicker than a layer of skin.

(Eh?)

He was caught completely off guard. Unlike Aurelian’s sudden attack, this act was carried out with the casual ease of a daily chore. Harold was so stunned he couldn't even make a sound.

And before he knew it, he felt another presence behind him. A weapon was pressed against his back.

"I see you aren't even carrying a weapon. To come walking in like this... you're either an utter fool or you have an incredible amount of confidence."

"...Is this what you call 'playing host'?"

"Yes, exactly. I told you earlier—red, the color of blood, suits you. So, I thought I’d stain you red. With your own blood."

(I have no idea what you're talking about...)

Even as he felt a chill at his own mouth, which wouldn't stop spitting vitriol even in this situation, Harold's mind raced to grasp the circumstances and find a way out.

The Francis Harold knew wasn't the type of man to do something like this without a reason. So, why was he trying to kill him? The only things Harold and Francis had in common were Itsuki and Erika.

If the cause lay there, the possibilities were narrow.

A love rival for Erika's heart? A test to see if he was worthy of Itsuki's friendship? He wouldn't resort to such extreme measures for something like that. That left only one answer.

"Confess. What is your purpose in approaching Itsuki and Erika—Harold Stokes?"

Evidently, Francis was a man who knew both Harold's face and his true identity.