My Beloved Princess ~The Boy Called Incompetent Rises with Only a Sword and the Princess's Devotion~ - Chapter 030: The Princess's Wish

Near dawn.

The interior of the abandoned covered wagon had finally regained tranquility.

Sitting on a suitable wooden crate, Kishō averted his eyes from the Princess beside him who repeatedly took rough breaths. Her sleeping bed was created by lining up three large wooden crates from the cargo area, then arranging boards cut and processed from the forest on top. A blanket was spread doubly on the wood. While it couldn’t be called comfortable to sleep on by any means, it was nevertheless the best they could do among the options currently available to them.

Ōka had performed the treatment. She’d wrapped bandages around the entire body and applied splints to both broken arms. Kishō could only do his utmost running around as commanded by her—preparing recovery potions, searching for branches suitable for splints.

To perform treatment required a somewhat clean and calm location. So Kishō and the others had retraced their path and returned all the way to the abandoned covered wagon where they’d camped on the third night, carrying the Princess in his arms.

The light of the suspended lamp illuminated the Princess’s pitiful figure. Blood seeped through the bandages, and her chest rising and falling with breathing seemed painful. Beneath the thin blanket lay her half-naked form wrapped in bandages.

The Princess’s body was in considerably terrible condition. Her skin was red and inflamed, and traces of internal bleeding dotted her entire body in uncountable numbers. The abdomen was especially the worst among them. On that beautiful, lovely face, boot marks remained clearly, and both arms bent in complex ways were miserable things that just dangled.

At that tragic state as if she’d received torture, Kishō felt his chest about to burst unbearably, and was driven by the impulse to run around shouting loudly.

(Damn it! If I could have rushed there faster…)

Kishō himself understood best that it was a meaningless hypothetical. Immediately after defeating the Tempest Turtle, Kishō had run at full speed. He’d continued running with momentum to leave behind Ōka, who was guiding him. It had been impossible to arrive any faster than that.

(I know that! But my insufficient ability is the cause of everything!)

If Kishō had long-range attack means, the situation might have changed. For example, if he could use restraint-type magic like the [Dark Chain Binding] the Princess had used, he could have further redued the turtle’s advance speed. If so, the Princess’s damage should have been further reduced as well. However, what he could do while airborne with no talent but swordsmanship was only watch everything end like someone else’s problem.

If the Princess hadn’t protected her at that time, Ōka might have died. Though he should have been the one to protect them, though he’d decided to protect them over everything else, he couldn’t fulfill that role, and the girl who became a substitute had suffered near-fatal injuries.

“The height of incompetence.”

Tears of frustration overflowed. Though Kishō had tasted bitter experiences in the past, his powerlessness had never been this hateful. Even in painful times, he’d never cried. Part of that was because Ōka had been beside him when he wanted to cry. But now, even with Ōka beside him, this pain didn’t seem like it would disappear.

The curtain hung at the entrance lifted, and Ōka entered the cargo area. In her hand was a small barrel with a hand towel draped on its edge. Wringing water, she exchanged it with the hand towel that had been placed on the Princess’s forehead, and Ōka sighed sadly.

“The fever won’t go down.”

Dragonkin had various resistances—in other words, considerably strong immunity. Normally fevers hardly ever occurred, but perhaps because she’d fallen into near-fatal injuries, the Princess’s forehead was emitting high fever. Kishō sighed deeply and shook his head sideways.

“Right now, we can’t do anything more. When dawn breaks, we’ll return to headquarters where the instructors are at full speed. I’ll have Ōka fight too.”

With an unusually serious manner, Ōka nodded.

Those eyes that normally smiled mischievously were now just earnestly serious.

She might be feeling guilty the same way as Kishō.

“Sorry. It’s all my fault. And yet I said terrible things to Ōka.”

—Ōka. What the hell are you doing? You’ll die, and I’m not joking.

Kishō, who’d been forced to struggle against the Tempest Turtle, had yelled at Ōka who’d come wandering up to the battle line. It seemed like it was lashing out from regret toward the Princess who’d become a sacrifice and irritation at his pathetic self who couldn’t take revenge. Though he should have understood deep in his heart that Ōka wouldn’t do something so foolish without any intent.

“Hmm? Terrible things?”

“I yelled at you, didn’t I? I’m really sorry.”

“Ah, that. If positions were reversed, I think I’d have gotten angry too. Like, what do you think Yō-chan’s sacrifice was for?”

It felt like his heart had been seized in a grip.

—Who did Kuroyō protect to become like that?

Words that had risen to his throat and been swallowed. But it felt like even thinking that itself was a sin. He’d really wanted to apologize for that. Ōka stared at him as if seeing through all of it.

“Just how much can Ōka see?”

“What are you talking about?”

Though lacking her usual light tone, the woven words were always the same.

Was she playing dumb, or was she serious? He couldn’t judge. Kishō sometimes thought she was like a jester.

“Uuu…”

Delirious with fever, the Princess groaned. Her chest rose and fell painfully, and she stirred faintly. When he gently readjusted the slipping blanket to hide her shoulders, Ōka sighed sadly, found a nearby small box, and sat down. It became the position of sitting directly opposite from Kishō’s perspective. She hung her head and hesitated as if difficult to broach, showed signs of worrying about something, then bit her lip tightly.

“Shō-kun, that girl…”

That girl. Ōka hadn’t clearly said that name. She might not have wanted to speak it aloud. Because Ōka had been closest to her. Kishō answered immediately.

“Yeah, I killed her.”

If he closed his eyes, the scene from that time floated vividly.

Blood-stained dragon robe. Both arms bent unnaturally. Disheveled black hair spread on the ground like a pool of blood. It didn’t look at all like the form a person should have. It was like a broken marionette had been thrown away.

And next, Alice entered his vision, raising a silver knife and raving about something. At the same time, the word “carve” entered his ears. He understood everything instantly. This one had treated the Princess roughly like a broken doll. There was no hesitation at all. He cut her down in one stroke from right shoulder to torso.

Just remembering the scene from that time made him feel like murderous intent welled up infinitely.

“The state Kuroyō’s in is way worse than what I heard from Ōka, right? It was obviously that bitch’s doing. Don’t tell me you’re saying I shouldn’t have killed her.”

“No. That’s not it. Rather, I wanted to kill her with my own hands.”

For such extreme words to come from gentle Ōka’s mouth was rare. It might be that she was that enraged. He understood the feeling painfully well. Both Kishō and Ōka had been deceived by that woman—Alice’s—act. They’d thought they were being kind with the intent to help someone. To be betrayed in this form, and moreover, to have their precious companion beaten to tatters. There was no way they could be fine with it. There was no way they could forgive it. And more than anything, he couldn’t forgive himself for trusting Alice.

“If I’d just believed in Kuroyō more, this wouldn’t have happened. I can’t help but feel that way.”

He’d thought the Princess, who took a cold attitude toward Alice, was coldhearted. He’d felt dissatisfied, thinking it would be fine to extend a hand to Alice who was in trouble. He’d even felt annoyed by the Princess staring fixedly with a displeased look.

But all of that was wrong, and only the Princess had always been right. If Alice’s true identity hadn’t been exposed and they’d continued acting together like that, they would have fallen into a more serious situation. Without realizing it, she’d been helping them all along.

“It’s the same for me too. With the appearance of a new girl, I carelessly thought she was anxious and jealous, and neglected the effort to understand Yō-chan’s true feelings.”

He’d vaguely understood that the Princess was poor at putting her emotions into words and conveying them. Though he should have been able to extend a hand from this side and listen to her, Kishō had neglected that effort.

“Kuroyō is inarticulate so she’s easily misunderstood. If there’s a next time… I need to properly listen to her then.”

“Yeah. I think we were both slightly misaligned with each other. Even if she was inarticulate and clumsy, Yō-chan could have consulted us too. Then we might have thought of a different solution. And I was also somehow reserved toward Yō-chan. So I couldn’t ask clearly. We both need to say things to convey them.”

“That’s right. Me too. I thought she was cold because the other party was lowly humans. I arbitrarily decided that Kuroyō also had the discriminatory consciousness typical of dragonkin. So I think I was afraid to clearly ask the reason.”

Because being denied as human meant having half of himself denied. He’d been afraid of being denied by the Princess who’d come to like him. He’d been afraid of being rejected. So he couldn’t ask.

“Uu… ah… Kishō… …Ōka…”

While delirious with fever, the Princess called their names.

“Kuroyō! Are you okay?”

“Yō-chan!? I’m here!”

Ōka took the bandaged right hand as if wrapping it with both hands. At the Princess’s ear, trying to pull back that consciousness, Kishō continued calling her name many times.

Whether that call reached her, the Princess thinly opened her mouth. So as not to miss even the smallest voice, Kishō and Ōka brought their ears close.

“…Was I… properly… useful?”

“Of course. Without Kuroyō, we’d have been wiped out. We can’t thank you enough.”

“That’s right. Yō-chan is our lifesaver.”

Repeating rough breaths, the Princess squeezed out words.

“If you like Ōka, that’s fine. Just keep me by your side too.”

“——!?”

“——!?”

Both their faces froze simultaneously.

She was making a tremendous misunderstanding. Kishō panicked.

“Kuroyō. That’s a misunderstanding. Ōka and I aren’t in that kind of relationship.”

Ōka was also panicking.

“That’s right, Yō-chan. We’re really not in that kind of relationship.”

Perhaps finding the two’s flustered state amusing, the Princess smiled faintly and gently.

“Ōka got her head patted. I didn’t get patted unless I asked. Ōka got held. I finally got held after I could no longer move on my own.”

“Kuroyō, you thought that way…”

His chest ached as if being squeezed.

That’s wrong! He wanted to shout with all his might.

He’d patted Ōka’s head because it was a habit of many years—something like a conditioned reflex. In the first place, he’d thought only someone like a dog happy to have their head patted would be someone like Ōka. To casually pat the noble Princess’s head was presumptuous.

And he’d held Ōka because there were questions about her combat ability. His body had moved naturally from the thought that he had to protect his precious friend, and it definitely wasn’t romantic preferential treatment. But from the Princess’s perspective, they looked like lovers.

“I want to hold Kuroyō too, really. There’s no other woman this good anywhere you look. But you and I are too different in status and ability. We’re not balanced. So I—”

Ōka’s hand gently placed on Kishō’s shoulder.

“It seems her consciousness is gone.”

The hand placed on his shoulder gripped tightly, and nails dug into skin, stimulating Kishō’s pain receptors. When he turned around to complain, Ōka’s serious face was there. Precisely because of her usual manner, that gap was quite scary.

“The root of the problem isn’t there, is it? What Shō-kun truly sees as the problem isn’t there. You really understand, don’t you? But you can’t face it. Because you’re afraid.”

His head throbbed painfully. That was a memory he absolutely didn’t want to remember. A lid with weights placed on it to block it, sealed so it would never come out again. The monster named trauma nesting in his heart.

“Yō-chan is serious.”

—Was I properly useful?

Perhaps she’d worked hard wanting to prove she could be useful. While becoming this tattered, desperately fighting, enduring who knows how much pain. And what she wished for beyond that was to be kept by Kishō’s side. Just that one thing.

(What kind of joke is it to want to be kept by the side of an incompetent commoner?)

But precisely because of that, her seriousness was conveyed more than enough.

“Still can’t forget the past? Do you think even Yō-chan, who’s this straightforward, is the same?”

And Ōka smacked his back. It felt somehow nostalgic. Ōka’s voice reached his ears faintly.

“Some things won’t be conveyed unless you say them. You learned that this time, didn’t you?”

Kishō’s consciousness flew to three months ago—the day of the entrance ceremony.