My Beloved Princess ~The Boy Called Incompetent Rises with Only a Sword and the Princess's Devotion~

Long, long ago.

Dragonkin territory was narrow, with a population of only a few thousand—a minority race.

Currently, packs belonged under the nation, but back then, packs belonged under tribes.

There were six tribes total.

At that time, each tribe’s power was evenly matched, so no hierarchy existed, and each tribe’s chieftain called themselves king.

Additionally, each tribe was composed only of dragonkin with the same attribute type. Fire attribute males and females made packs together and lived within the tribe. Dragonkin of other attributes were thoroughly excluded, and marriage between different attributes was absolute taboo.

However, being composed only of the same type meant while they could specialize and sharpen abilities in one direction, the entire tribe shared the same weakness. And this weakness—lacking attribute diversity—would greatly divide their fate.

At one time, dragonkin-ruled land suffered large-scale invasion by other races’ coalition forces. The six tribes constantly antagonized each other and spent their days in territorial disputes, relations were poor, and no movement to cooperate in battle arose.

Naturally, responses were made by each tribe individually, but the coalition exploited this opening.

Though dragonkin were among the strongest races, territory was still narrow then, a minority race. Therefore each tribe’s unity was much firmer than now, but their single-attribute weakness was skillfully exploited, resulting in complete collapse. Territory was stolen, many dragonkin were culled and died.

In that hellish maelstrom.

When facing tribal extinction crisis, one among the kings said:

“Let us cast aside all past grudges and fight together.”

Though they’d been antagonistic day and night, almost no territory remained, and no meaning existed even to争ue over turf anymore. Having reached this point, the only path was cooperating to survive, and with resolve to even sip mud, they decided to unite as one.

Originally, dragonkin were called the strongest race. If attribute偏り disappeared, base power overwhelmed other races. The one king who unified the族 commanded all dragonkin forces with other kings’ cooperation, challenged battle, and achieved splendid victory.

Later, people came to call those great kings the Six Heroes, praising their achievements.

Since then, the grudges that had long bound them vanished, and tribes began interacting with each other. Eventually blood from each lineage mixed, and by the time the tribal concept disappeared, all dragonkin possessed bloodlines from each lineage—genetic information for all attributes.

“Meaning, all attribute factors coexist within our bodies.”

The Princess concluded the long tale thus.

Attribute factors were genetic information determining dragonkin’s aptitude attributes. When living as tribes, they possessed only single attribute factors, but through blood mixing, all attribute factors came to coexist.

“Though hearing this for the first time, it somehow feels nostalgic.”

That was distant memory. Did dragonkin instinct convey it? Kishō felt nostalgia. The Princess also spoke in somehow sentimental tone:

“Perhaps the flesh and blood composing this body—genetic information—remembers.”

The story the Princess told was ancient history untouched even in history class. Probably tens of thousands of years. Done poorly, perhaps hundreds of thousands of years had passed. How on earth did she research this—such a question flashed through the pathos.

“I didn’t want to just tell old stories. Deep correlation exists between aptitude attributes and attribute factors. To unravel the aptitude attribute problem, one needs to know what attribute factors are.”

There Kishō remembered. On the way to Beast King Forest, the Princess earnestly reading a book inside the carriage. That title was—

“Attribute Factor Inheritance Theory. Don’t tell me you were already researching back then…”

Aptitude attributes and attribute factors had deep correlation. Then only one reason for researching existed.

“To solve the problem I’m facing… right? But back then, not only weren’t we engaged, but I’d just pushed you away. Yet still…”

He couldn’t believe it. Before even knowing if she’d be accepted, she’d been offering devotion all along? Kishō’s chest filled and he choked on words.

“Supporting my husband’s path of hegemony is a wife’s duty. And I’d decided to become your wife.”

Saying so, the Princess rustled a sheet of parchment from her sleeve.

The opening stated thus:

――――――――――――――――

Attribute Manifestation and Inheritance

◯ Dragonkin inevitably possessed six types—fire, water, earth, wind, light, and dark—of genetic information known as attribute factors. Attribute factors were inherited from parent to child, and among them, whichever factor occupied the largest proportion became the aptitude attribute. The other attributes existed as latent factors, but did not manifest.

――――――――――――――――

Below, characters lined densely, with inheritance rules regarding attribute factors written. Text volume enough to cause dizziness. Just how much time had she spent compiling this volume?

While his chest heated at the Princess’s devotion, Kishō organized important-seeming passages in his head once more.

“Within our bodies, genetic information called attribute factors are inherited.”

“Right. Attribute factors have been inherited since ancient times.”

“And among inherited attribute factors, whichever occupies the largest proportion becomes aptitude attribute… seems complicated.”

“Actually, converting to numbers makes it easier to understand. For example, if inherited attribute factor proportions are [Fire 10%, Water 5%, Earth 15%, Wind 30%, Light 20%, Dark 20%], aptitude attribute becomes wind.”

“Because wind attribute factor is 30% and most abundant, manifesting attribute becomes wind.”

“Right. And other attributes are possessed as genetic information but don’t manifest. Dragonkin can’t use attributes besides aptitude attribute.”

Then, Kishō voiced what he thought.

“Meaning, having no aptitude attribute is because attribute factors don’t exist?”

Whichever attribute factor occupied the greatest proportion manifested as the “aptitude attribute.” This was a matter of proportion, not of total quantity. In other words, theoretically, even if only a fragment of an attribute factor existed, the aptitude attribute should have unquestionably appeared as “present.”

That this had not occurred could only mean one thing: the attribute factors did not exist at all—an utterly simple conclusion.

But at this question from Kishō, the Princess puffed her cheeks very, very dissatisfied.

“Wrong.”

At her childish gesture never once seen before, his chest leaped with a thump. The Princess pursing her lips said:

“Theoretically, dragonkin inevitably possess attribute factors. If they don’t possess them, they’re not dragonkin but something else. And you’re a proper dragonkin.”

Great emphasis was placed on the final “proper dragonkin” part.

“? Then why don’t I have an aptitude attribute?”

At that question, the Princess pointed with a finger to the parchment’s very bottom.

An annotation was written there:

――――――――――――――――

※1 Rarely, ignoring attribute factor inheritance rules, atavistic inheritance across generations occurs.

※2 Attribute factors are inherited only from dragonkin parents. For example, if the father is another race, all attribute factors are inherited from the mother. Conversely, if the mother is another race, all attribute factors are inherited from the father.

――――――――――――――――

For an instant, thought went blank.

“Huh?”

Once more, his eyes traced the relevant passage.

—Attribute factors are inherited only from dragonkin parents. For example, if the father is another race, all attribute factors are inherited from the mother.

“Seems you’ve understood.”

At the Princess’s voice, Kishō raised his face from the parchment.

“What exactly does this mean?”

The Princess smiled faintly.

“Attribute factors are inherited only from dragonkin parents. Meaning, your mother’s and your attribute factor proportions are exactly the same, which means having the same aptitude attribute. So I ask—what is your mother’s aptitude attribute?”

“Uh… that’s…”

Kishō’s mother Kirin was a dragonkin called stray, not belonging to any pack. Her personality was gentle, getting along well even with Argant’s residents. The master who taught Kishō how to handle [Ki], she also had an aspect of mercilessly wielding the whip toward her son. Therefore, Kishō felt awkward toward his mother.

But reconsidering now, he’d never seen his mother use magic or breath. Though Argant was peaceful so opportunities might not have existed, then why had she taught [Ki] usage but not taught magic or breath? The conclusion derived from that was—

“Does Mom also… have no aptitude attribute…?”

“Wrong!”

When Kishō deliberately voiced the wrong conclusion, the Princess who puffed her cheeks again denied dissatisfied. Such small-animal-like behavior from her felt fresh, making him want to see more. If he patted her head now, would she get angry?

“Sorry, that was a joke. Dragonkin inevitably possess attribute factors. Then Mom also has an aptitude attribute, and I’ve inherited the same aptitude attribute. But then why did it come out as no aptitude attribute? Surely not a malfunction of the great mirror used for examination, or some malicious person’s doing?”

Perhaps an anticipated question, as the Princess responded smoothly.

“I investigated the great mirror used for aptitude examination myself, but found no abnormalities.”

“Your work is fast as expected… but then, why?”

“A rational hypothesis exists. But—”

“But?”

A hesitating interval was inserted. The Princess blinked slowly as if pondering. Long, refined eyelashes opened and closed in slow motion.

“Most likely is the case of possessing a seventh attribute.”

“Seventh attribute?”

Inadvertently, Kishō made an absurd-sounding voice. Dragonkin could handle only six attributes. That was common knowledge, and academy classes taught so. Hearing a seventh attribute existed was news.

“Try remembering. How the great mirror reacted during aptitude examination.”

—No aptitude attribute.

Asked by the Princess, painful memories driven to memory’s corner flashed back. Contemptuous gazes directed from six female teachers. Numerous reproaching words.

“——”

No. That wasn’t what mattered. Kishō shook his head and brought consciousness to the moment judgment appeared.

The great mirror that displayed the aptitude attribute of whoever held their hand before it. On that mirror surface, no color was displayed. That was the void of despair. Therefore, no aptitude attribute.

“Colorless, transparent. No color was displayed. That’s why I was told I had no aptitude attribute.”

“As expected. The great mirror analyzed the genetic information and displayed the color corresponding to whichever attribute factor occupied the largest proportion. For example, the fire attribute appeared as red. But here—if a seventh attribute were to exist, what do you think would happen?”

Asked, Kishō covered his mouth with his hand and pondered.

“The great mirror has prepared colors corresponding to six attributes—meaning only six colors. Then, there’d be no color to display.”

“Right. The magic processing inside the great mirror would error and display nothing. Void.”

“Seriously… the result becomes the same for having no aptitude attribute versus possessing a seventh attribute. Certainly seems to hold theoretically. But I’ve never heard of a seventh attribute—does it really exist?”

“The seventh attribute is classified information, so not knowing is understandable. The story that former Sword Saint Sendō-heika also had the seventh attribute is known only to an extremely limited few. Probably even Seiran-dono doesn’t know. Also—”

At that point, the Princess cut herself off mid-sentence.

Then, while sitting shallowly on the bed, she suddenly leaned forward and extended her pale, slender arms. Before he could understand what was happening, her cold hands slid onto Kishō’s cheeks and held him in place, as if gently wrapping around him.

“—Huh?”

The involuntary sound slipped out. From directly in front of him, the Princess’s eyes peered into his heart from the abyss of darkness. Once their gazes met, perhaps due to some bewitching power, they could not easily part.

“Those eyes. I’ve been wondering ever since we first met. I felt like it wasn’t our first encounter. But no matter how much I tried to recall, I had no memory of ever meeting you.”

Her breath brushed against the tip of his nose. The distance between them was close enough for lips to touch. With his face fixed between her hands, he could not move. Flustered, Kishō could only shift his eyes, trying to avert his gaze.

“I don’t remember meeting you either. If we had met even once, I would definitely remember.”

“Yes, I think so too. But still, I felt an affinity toward your eyes. I might even say I felt favor. I didn’t understand the reason back then, and it felt strange—but now that I think about it, it was probably—”

“Probably?”

At that, the Princess smiled meaningfully, and suddenly her lips—

“——”

For several seconds, time came to a halt.

Eyes widened. Breaths stopped. Their lips overlapped fully. A woman’s scent drew close, flooding his nostrils and making Kishō realize that this was reality.

Forgetting even to breathe, their lips remained pressed together, overlapping again and again.

That time felt both like eternity and like passing in an instant.

When the sweet sensation separated, the Princess wiped her pale pink lips with fingertips reluctantly and smiled alluringly.

“As expected, it was fate.”

“Wh-wha wha wha… what are you—”

At the sudden forceful action, Kishō froze flabbergasted.

Perhaps his petrified, absentminded appearance was amusing, as the Princess laughed softly.

“Investigating all this was hard work, you know. So that was my labor fee.”

What existed there wasn’t the usual meager face but an emotionally rich face befitting a girl her age. And she stated her conclusion with moist, drowsy eyes.

“If my thinking is correct, meeting your mother should clarify everything. Including the aptitude attribute problem—everything.”

◇◇◇◇◇

Inhaling deeply, a woman’s lingering fragrance tickled his nose with sweet scent.

How much time had passed since the Princess left the room? The sweet fragrance she left seemed to still drift within the room.

“Smelled good.”

Gazing reluctantly at the door she’d departed through, Kishō muttered dreamily alone.

Even the person at the problem’s center had long given up on the aptitude attribute problem. Yet the Princess hadn’t given up and searched through literature alone. That couldn’t have been just that one book. She must have referenced many works.

That effort, her feelings trying to devote herself to him that much—Kishō felt helplessly happy. And what was demanded as compensation for that was,

“A kiss… that’s just too adorable…”