45 - Responsibility

Yvain had a one-of-a-kind nuclear-powered royal carriage. Unlike Burn's war chariot, designed for a lone warrior, Yvain's carriage boasted specialized features focused on defense and protection. 

Its interior exuded an air of luxurious comfort, beckoning anyone who stepped inside to bask in its lavishness. The carriage was a sight to behold.

Plush upholstery adorned every surface, enveloping passengers in a cocoon of lavishness. Cushions, meticulously crafted for maximum comfort, seemed to whisper promises of indulgence and relaxation.

Every detail, from the intricate carvings on the walls to the gilded accents, spoke of Yvain's identity as a ruler.

Within the spacious confines of the carriage, Yvain reveled in his own magnificence. The nuclear power that propelled the carriage ensured a smooth and swift journey, while also serving as a statement of his status and influence.

Here, within this mobile fortress of luxury and protection, Yvain could shield himself from the hardships and inconveniences that mortals faced.

Especially with his master here, who had just recovered from a serious predicament.

His eternally captivating master, seated beside him within the lavish confines of the carriage, gazed out of the window with an air of sublime beauty.

Momo, the epitome of resplendence, possessed a charm that transcended even the most dire circumstances. It was as if her beauty had an uncanny ability to flourish even amidst the most unflattering circumstances.

She could be drenched in mud or adorned with the finest manure, and yet, her allure would remain untouched, defying all conventional expectations.

"Ain, I'm sorry."

Yvain flinched when the woman suddenly spoke.

She let out a weary sigh, her voice laced with a mix of regret. "I vanished, without a single word. It's been all these years... You must've gone through so much during my absence."

"All that matters is you're back, Master. Everything else is trivial; I understand," Yvain said, his words brushing aside the weight of the past with a simple, earnest affection.

Momo responded with a soft chuckle, her laughter tinged with a hint of sadness as she pulled him into a warm embrace. "If you knew what the future holds, I wonder if you'd still find it in your heart to forgive me."

Yvain felt complicated. Seeing what happened earlier between his master and Burn, he felt that they knew something and shouldered it alone.

He was still a kid, after all, privy to the universal child's diet of secrets and half-truths.

Yet, he wore a crown, which regrettably didn't come with the luxury of a typical childhood—no scraped knees or stolen cookies, just statecraft and scepters.

Was this because he was weak?

"Aside from the past, my child, have you seen the reports about the Elysian Kingdom?" Momo asked.

"Huh? Uh… that…" Yvain sputtered. The whole thing with the kingdom was something else—cloaked in secrecy and just plain wrong.

Treating the prince and princess like they were objects, rather than actual people. All over some prophecy—

"When you walk into the enemy's palace at the end of this march, what do you think you'll encounter?" Momo inquired.

"Well, after our brief skirmish on the border, they're probably give up and accept their defeat. Perhaps a scattering of nobles, the king, and his heir might turn tail…"

"Given all the details in those reports and their history so far, what do you think will happen?" Momo pressed.

"From what I gather, there's no escape plan brewing in the royal quarters. So, if I barge in, I might just catch them like that."

Momo nodded. 

But then, she slowly explained, "You know, desperation has a knack for squeezing out more from people than mere surrender, hands up and knees in the dirt. It can brew up a batch of hope when you least expect it."

"Master… what are you getting at?" Yvain's confusion was clear, his understanding lagging a few steps behind.

"Their hope is the arrival of a new princess. When the walls start closing in, what do you think their play will be?" Momo posed the question gently, hinting at the deeper strategies at play.

Momo's hinted keywords were reports, history, and desperation. 

Yvain remembered he had read a report stating that all unmarried noble daughters in the kingdom had been gathered and hosted in the palace just yesterday.

He had initially thought it was an attempt to save them from the war.

"They're creating a harem for the young prince, forcing him to sow his royal seed with every noble daughter present. At this point, that will be the sight you encounter, my child," Momo said.

Yvain was mature for his age, dubbed 'Little Merlin' for his prodigious intellect. Yet, let's not forget, he was still a 12-year-old.

"You're a king, and you're the same age as him, if my memory serves me right," Momo pointed out with a slight tilt of her head, "And that's exactly why you need to be clued in on this mess."

Yvain felt the air squeeze out of his lungs.

"In an ideal world, we'd have none of this nonsense—a reality where no child is expected to play grown-up in such an absurdly adult sandbox."

"A reality where a young child is forced to engage in such activities with multiple partners at once," Momo whispered in shame. "Ain, I am sorry that this is the world you live in."

Digesting her words, simmering in his mind, Yvain found himself rendered speechless, struck mute by the sheer horror of it all. 

There he was, a preteen king draped in the velvet linings of a nuclear-powered royal carriage—the hum of atomic energy in the background serving as a bizarre lullaby for his thoughts.

It was almost ironic, really: here he sat in the lap of advanced, opulent technology, yet grappling with medieval-level barbarism. 

No matter the chatter, Yvain was indeed one of the fortunate ones.

He could hold his own in a scuffle, had his master now and then—her vanishing acts a test of his self-sufficiency—and was graced with divine blessings, armed with strength and Vision.

But that other boy? He was nothing more than a marionette, strung along by the desperate hopes of a kingdom, dancing to a tune composed by the fickle fingers of the sinisters. A twisted beacon of hope, indeed.

Chosen not because of his strength, but his mediocrity—how utterly tragic. How…

"Will His Majesty save him?" Yvain inquired.

Momo's eyebrows arched at the question. 

"Caliburn?"

Yvain nodded.

"I'm not sure," Momo replied, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "He's not exactly the person who would…"

Yvain's gaze fell.

"But," Momo continued with a reassuring smile, "he's also not one to take lives unnecessarily. Besides, do you really think it would be wise to save him rather than let him die?"

Yvain, unaware of his own past loop's decision to order obliteration of everything with his mana, asserted, "It's not too late to save him, right? No, even if it is, we must try."

Momo smiled.

"It will be challenging. It will be a tremendous responsibility. Caliburn, the man responsible for decisions, won't help you," she cautioned.

"It's okay," Yvain responded firmly. "I am a king too."

"If His Majesty permits him to live, then I will rescue him… along with his brothers… and all the princes stashed away as mere pawns."