His chat with the Crown Prince didn’t last long. Just a few cups of tea later, the two had already reached an understanding.

Arman and the Crown Prince, Solore, were both cautious by nature. So before everything was fully investigated, neither of them would make a move. Compared to blind offense or passive defense, they preferred a counterattack more like a parry—using the enemy’s own opening to crush them, and ideally crush them so thoroughly they’d never get back up again.

Like the units that clear battlefields after a war, their job was to confirm whether the enemy was truly dead. Every last one had to be finished off. They couldn’t leave even the faintest chance for some half-dead, desperate survivor to make one final gamble.

It sounded cruel, but every time Arman went to war—whether to repel invading nations or deal with monster incursions—he and the knights under his command had to cut open every hostile living thing left on the battlefield. Only after confirming those things showed no signs of life would they leave.

A lot of knights admired and respected their commander, but didn’t want to be assigned to the same squad as him. The reason was simple: battlefield cleanup was almost always led personally by Arman.

He’d slice open those bloody remains one by one with the sword in his hand, while muttering things like, “This feels just like the steak we’re having tonight,” or, “Look, doesn’t this organ kind of resemble that lopsided pastry you ate the other day?”

No one knew whether he did it on purpose or not, but after grossing out the knights with comments like that, he’d keep going with, “You guys eat more later. My stomach’s not great, so I can’t handle greasy food.” It was like he’d disgusted all his brothers, then neatly removed himself from the equation.

Sometimes he’d even take stomach medicine in the middle of it. At that point, the scene would turn into something truly bizarre—someone chatting and laughing while chewing on something, covered in blood, dissecting human organs.

His sword was mostly undecorated for that exact reason. If it had too many patterns, embellishments, or protruding gems, leftover biological tissue would be hard to clean off. Once bits of flesh got stuck in the crevices, it wouldn’t take long for the blade to pick up a strange smell. Arman wasn’t picky about details, but even he couldn’t walk around with something on him that reeked of corpses.

As for whether the sword would keep a bloody smell, that depended on old butler Lug. His cleaning skills were excellent enough to make Arman’s clothes and gear look brand new every time. After all, whether it was armor or a blade, those were what kept you alive on the battlefield. Replacing them too often only meant constantly resetting your familiarity with your equipment. And if you weren’t familiar with your own gear, you could lose your life in battle. So Arman would rather deal with the trouble of cleaning than replace anything, unless it was so worn out it couldn’t be used anymore.

“Your Highness, the Second Prince has arrived.”

Just as Arman and the Crown Prince were wrapping up their conversation, right when they were about to put on their cloaks and head out, the guard outside announced it. Almost the moment the words fell, a young man with the same short golden hair as the Crown Prince stepped out from behind the guard.

“It seems my royal brother is busy. I came at the wrong time.”

Following that familiar voice, Arman looked over and saw Second Prince Erik Clareya already walking up beside him, extending a hand as if in greeting.

“Hello, Captain Arman. It’s been a while.”

Arman glanced at the gloved hand and let out a small laugh before taking it.

“Yeah. Thanks to you.”

As for what exactly he was “thankful” for, the Second Prince naturally knew very well.

The Crown Prince had kept the matter of the lingering poison damage in Arman’s body tightly sealed. But no matter what, the Second Prince was still a prince. If he wanted to know, he had ways of finding out. Even if he didn’t know every detail, he knew Arman’s condition wasn’t actually that good.

And he knew even more clearly that the poison in Arman’s body feared heat and favored cold. Though Arman’s powerful physique had suppressed its flare-ups, two winters ago the Second Prince still sent him to the far north, where snow and wind lasted all year, to fend off foreign enemies. His excuse had been, “No one but him can hold that line.” In truth, he’d been hoping Arman would simply freeze to death in that temporary fortress.

Fortunately, Arman’s army was strong. The Crown Prince’s side also provided considerable support, along with war diplomacy the other side couldn’t refuse. A war that should have lasted three years ended in a little over one.

After that, Arman spent half a year recovering in secret from the damage caused by his condition flaring up again. Only recently, when the pain had mostly stopped affecting his daily life, did he move into that estate and reappear in the public eye.

Because of the royal physician secretly arranged by the Crown Prince to accompany him, Arman avoided fatal harm. And politically, this victory under the Crown Prince’s command nearly flipped public support in his favor, suppressing the momentum of the Second Prince’s faction.

If not for that success, the royal capital would probably have been steered entirely by the Second Prince’s manipulation of public opinion. Back then, people had even started bringing up “better the idle one than the elder one.” The Second Prince had put in no small amount of effort on matters like that. Even now, though his support was nowhere near what it once was, he still handled public opinion with practiced ease.

The Saint Flores Church was even more of a universal tool. A prince who spent money on charity work was naturally hard for the common people not to love. In the eyes of the nobles, the Crown Prince’s strategy was more than enough. But in the eyes of commoners, what they wanted wasn’t a ruler who went off to war all the time. Even if the fighting never reached their doorstep, they still feared that one day foreign enemies would rise again.

“Captain, you look well. Moving into a new home really seems to have lifted your body and spirit.”

When the Second Prince said that, he still hadn’t let go of Arman’s hand.

“Yeah. Having a place that feels like home is definitely better than staying in temporary quarters.”

As he answered, Arman’s hand tightened slightly as well.

In the royal court, aside from the Crown Prince, who could be less polite to the Second Prince by virtue of being the elder brother, the rudest one there was Arman.

People all said Arman was just a brute who only knew how to fight and kill, someone who didn’t understand proper etiquette at all. Arman’s answer was that all that red tape couldn’t fill your stomach anyway. He openly clashed with ministers who opposed him, which only cemented his image as rude and arrogantly dismissive.

Most nobles couldn’t be bothered stooping to his level. On top of that, he held no noble title. Though he was the Captain of the Royal Knights, and that sounded like a high office, it was also a high-risk job where death could come at any time. Maybe you’d wake up one morning and the captain’s seat would already belong to someone else. So those people simply disdained arguing with him, much less currying favor.

Those in the Second Prince’s faction looked down on him even more. Through public opinion, they painted him as a man who had nothing going for him except a handsome face and the ability to fight.

But that suited Arman just fine. Since he was already branded a crude man, no one would bother stepping out to lecture him no matter what he did. In a way, it perfectly enabled the kind of life he wanted now—doing whatever he pleased.

The two of them smiled at each other for a long while. Then the Crown Prince, looking like he was enjoying the show, calmly poured himself another cup of tea. Hearing the crisp clink of cup against saucer, the Second Prince finally released Arman’s hand.

...Just endure this arrogant, ill-mannered bastard a little longer. It won’t be long now. As long as Crimson Crow completes the mission...

Thinking that, the Second Prince kept smiling as he withdrew his hand.

“Captain, it looks like you were about to leave. My royal brother and I still have matters to discuss.”

As he spoke, the Second Prince lifted the document in his hand. The seal of Saint Flores was stamped clearly on it.

So this guy’s planning to make another move through the monastery.

Arman smiled knowingly. He had already started to rise, but then dropped right back onto the sofa and poured himself another cup of tea.

“What a shame, Your Highness. Your brother and I still have a few things to discuss. Please wait a moment.”

Like a toast, Arman raised the teacup in his hand toward the Second Prince, then tipped his head back and drained it in one go.

It was as if a string of ellipses got squeezed out of the Second Prince’s mouth. He forced that same composed smile back onto his face, though one eyebrow twitched. It wasn’t that he lacked the authority to throw this rude bastard out. It was that he still couldn’t completely tear things open with the Crown Prince and his people. And there was even less point trying to reason with someone this shameless.

“Then... when will you be finished speaking with my brother?”

“Your brother and I are old friends. I rarely come by, so catching up will definitely take a while. Your Highness, if you can wait, then wait for us outside by the door.”

—That doorway was where attendants stood by. How could I, the Second Prince, stand there?!

...Forget it. Forget it. This brat won’t live much longer anyway...

Sooner or later, I’ll rip out your guts and feed them to dogs...!

The Second Prince steadied his breath and replied,

“Then I’ll leave my royal brother to his business. I’ll come again tomorrow.”

He had no desire to waste more words on someone like Arman. He turned and left at once.

As for Arman and the Crown Prince across from him, after watching the Second Prince leave, the two exchanged a smile, as if saying, “Had to be you.”

When you’re dealing with civilized people, sometimes you need a thug.