The Shut-In Prince’s Splendid Social Debut — Me, a Villainous Imperial, Have Spent the Last Fifteen Years Fighting the “Wicked Thoughts” Eating Away at My Mind. When I Finally Returned to High Society, There Were Way Too Many People I Didn’t Recognize

There are only two people in this world who have influenced me, both in good ways and bad.

One is my father, Hraesvelgr, a fierce man and the hero of the North feared by nobles.

It is also partly my fault that Father is feared. I was born with the characteristics of “Silver Hair” and “Red Eyes,” and when nobles mocked me as a “Cursed Child,” Father retaliated against them one after another. Because of that, the Margrave Grayash family came to have a terrible reputation.

However, from that point onward no nobles openly interfered with me. Instead, in social settings I was treated like a tumor, and people often looked at me with either hostility or curiosity.

I do not think Father doted on his child, because he was strict with me as well. Especially regarding male nobles who approached me, he always told me to treat them coldly, saying things like, “Those men are trash with nothing but ulterior motives. They are not worth speaking to.”

I obeyed Father’s words because I believed it would benefit the Margrave Grayash family. But thinking about it now, it was simply easier for me to obey him, because if I did that, I never had to confront my own feelings.

A doll with no will, merely doing as Father said—that was me.

Before I knew it, I came to be called the “Ice Lady.”

Yet even to my eyes there was one person who looked special. That person was Naphna Selene Perdraon, a cheerful and hardworking girl with beautiful blue hair.

Unlike me, Naphna was always looked upon favorably in social settings. She had been chosen at a young age as the “White Dragon Priestess,” carrying the duty of protecting the world from the threat of the North.

I was conscious of Naphna, and I think she was conscious of me as well. As people with positions to uphold, there was no option not to interact.

At first we did not get along, and I even thought I disliked her. But before I knew it, Naphna and I had become friends. Although we appeared to be opposites, I believe we were similar somewhere deep down.

To me, Naphna was “Light,” and I was her “Shadow.” Just as a shadow cannot exist without light, I sought my own value in that dazzling brightness.

I understood how distorted that emotion was, but I pretended not to see it, because I did not know any other way to define myself.

So perhaps this is punishment.

Those who live without direction never realize they are narrowing their own path. I turned my eyes away from reality and entrusted everything to others, never realizing that the road I was walking led to only one destination—death.

◇◇◇◇

“Ugh… Where is this…”

When Fryure Miare Grayash regained consciousness, she found herself in a dim underground space filled with stagnant air.

“—You’re awake.”

Standing before her was a man she recognized, a face like a Noh mask she had only glimpsed for an instant before losing consciousness.

“…You are the Azellan Knight Order’s Vice-Commander.”

“That’s right.”

“…To think the Founder of the Demon Worship Cult was mixed into the Knight Order.”

Fryure tried to move her body but could not.

Gashan.

Heavy restraints rattled, and it seemed even the tendons in her legs had been cut, leaving her completely unable to move.

“Escape is impossible. Give up.”

“My disappearance will already be known to the Knight Order. Surely a search will begin immediately, and when that happens you are finished.”

“If you are expecting rescue, that is useless, because no one knows this place.”

Sarlo said that and showed her a jewel whose light had already faded.

“…What is that?”

“A Teleportation Jewel. I used it to bring you here.”

Fryure could not hide her surprise.

Jewels were rare relics that could only be obtained in dungeons, imbued with powerful magic that a human body could not normally handle. Although the number of uses was limited, anyone with magical aptitude could activate them. Because of their rarity, they were expensive enough to be stored in the national treasury.

“The place you are in now is a remote underground location far from Serbul’s mansion. That is why I said help will not come.”

“Kuh…”

The reality placed before her was absolute despair. Sarlo’s goal was the creation of a Spirit Armament, and the fate awaiting Fryure from this point onward was obvious.

“My plan was greatly disrupted by the White Dragon Priestess. There were still things I needed to do in the Imperial Capital, yet in the end I was forced to use the Teleportation Jewel. This is a tremendous loss.”

“…Tsk.”

Sarlo spoke with barely restrained anger.

“—You will compensate for that loss with your body.”

His sharp gaze pierced Fryure.

“Tsk… What do you intend to do to me?”

“What is required to create a Spirit Armament is the heart of an Ancient Species. Therefore, Fryure Miare Grayash, you will become the foundation of a true Spirit Armament as an offering.”

In the past, corpses with their hearts torn out while still alive had been found at the sites where Spirit Armaments were manufactured, and Fryure now understood why.

“Kuh… You are insane.”

“Say whatever you like. What we seek is chaos within the human world, and loyalty dedicated to the noble Apostle of the Northern Underworld…!”

Sarlo shouted triumphantly as he raised his sword high, then pointed it directly at Fryure’s chest.

“—I will take your Ancient Species’ heart.”

“Tsk…”

So this is where I die.

Fryure calmly accepted that conclusion. The only two people who came to her mind in that moment were Naphna and Hraesvelgr, but in this situation nothing could be done and this fate could not be overturned.

She could even imagine the moment the sword pierced her chest and her heart was taken out. It was inevitable, and there was no path of salvation.

…But reality changed.

Fate was overturned.

“—Fuu, that was close.”

A third voice appeared as suddenly an arm holding a sword emerged from empty space, deflecting Sarlo’s blade.

“Tsk…!”

Sarlo leapt back, raising his vigilance to the maximum.

The arm was followed by the rest of the body, and eventually that figure fully appeared—a young man with slightly long blonde hair and blue eyes, holding a Treasure Sword.

Fryure recognized him.

“…Yoan-sama? Why on earth…”

Because that person was her best friend’s fiancé.

“Nice to meet you, Fryure-dono. You probably have many questions, but for now—I came to save you.”

“Tsk…”

The young man gave Fryure a gentle smile as he said those words, even though he should have had no connection with her.

“…You are the Shut-in Prince? Why are you here? And the technique just now—was that Teleportation?”

Sarlo asked rapidly, clearly flustered.

“I have no obligation to answer that question. You are an enemy threatening my peace, after all, so I will have you exit here.”

After saying that, Yoan never turned his gaze toward Fryure again and immediately swung his sword at Sarlo.

The clash of blades echoed through the underground chamber.

To Fryure, that sound felt like gospel.

She could not properly process reality and still did not understand what was happening, because this was the first time she had experienced such an incomprehensible situation.

Yet one fact was undeniable—Fryure had been saved.

Not by Naphna, nor by Hraesvelgr, but by a man she barely knew.

That was why Fryure wanted to know.

Yesterday his gaze had been directed at her, he had helped during the Demon Worship Cult attack, and now he had rushed to rescue her from this predicament.

What made him do that? What was the meaning of it? Why was he saving her?

This was the third person Fryure had ever taken interest in.

If it could be called curiosity, then it was curiosity, but it was different from the awe she felt toward Hraesvelgr and different again from the affection she felt toward Naphna.

It was something she had never felt before—something selfish, egocentric, and self-centered.

Watching Yoan’s flowing swordsmanship, which made it impossible to believe he had been a shut-in, Fryure could only stare in fascination.

Who exactly was this man who could fight on equal footing with the Vice-Commander?

Fryure silently directed question after question toward those beautiful sky-blue eyes, still unaware of the true identity of the curiosity growing inside her.

◇◇◇◇

[Spatial Transfer] activated successfully, and during the brief subspace interval before teleportation completed, I was able to check the situation ahead.

Seeing Sarlo pointing his sword at Fryure nearly made my heart stop, because it had truly been a close call.

That being said, [Spatial Transfer] was incredibly convenient magic. If abused, it would make assassinations effortless, so it would probably be better not to reveal that I could use it.

(Though Fryure already saw it.)

Since that could not be helped, I might have to bribe or threaten her to keep quiet.

“Hmph!”

“Guh…! Where did you get such power?! Weren’t you shut inside for fifteen years?!”

Founder Sarlon.

In the ERT era he already stood at the top of the Demon Worship Cult as its Founder, though I never knew his previous occupation had been Vice-Commander of the Knight Order.

The problem was that this man was normally stronger than the original Yoan, since he was an enemy from the middle stages onward and should be around level 54.

So I could not lower my guard.

“Hah… I see hesitation in that sword. Is this your first time killing someone?”

“…”

Correct.

I had never fought a battle where life and death were truly on the line.

“Fuhahaha! To think someone with your strength has never experienced a battlefield—I’m amazed! I acknowledge your skill, but in the end you are only human!”

“Tsk…”

This time Sarlo went on the offensive.

“Victory belongs to those who do not fear death! Someone with half-hearted resolve like you has no chance of winning! Die—[Three Heavy Combo]!”

Three slashes split toward me like the claws of a massive beast.

It was likely a technique equivalent to a Skill.

I lowered my posture and steadied myself.

“…I know that. That is why I came here with my resolve already decided.”

Humans are creatures who seek happiness, so if protecting that happiness requires it, I will do anything.

No more hesitation like before.

“[Sword Wave: Storm Strike].”

I unleashed a tornado-like slash imbued with wind magic, and our techniques collided before my attack eventually broke through Sarlo’s.

“What…!”

“It’s over, Sarlo.”

I instantly closed the distance to his chest.

Sarlo raised his sword defensively, but it was too late.

When I struck the flat of his blade, his sword shattered.

“Wha…!”

His torso opened completely—

and I cut it in half.

Sarlo’s body collapsed forward with a dull sound, and after a moment the light faded from his eyes.

I watched that moment silently.

“Fuu… Is it over, I wonder.”

I felt no particular emotion, only relief that I had accomplished what I needed to do.

(Somehow managed it.)

With this, the Demon Worship Cult targeting Fryure should be finished.

Still—

(I defeated a mid-stage enemy at level 9.)

A strange warmth spread through my body, as if it were being rewritten into something different.

“Status.”

――――
[Overcomer Display: ON]
Yoan Joachim Rodenze [Overcomer] Lv. 41 (+32) (Max 51) Limit Break: 1 time
Vitality 1436 (+518)
Mental Strength ∞
Strength 1263 (+451)
Dexterity 903 (+323)
Intelligence 1430 (+509)
Faith 900 (+311)
Agility 1086 (+385)
Equipment: Curly’s Treasure Sword (Wind)
Magic Power: 13th Tier
Magic Change: 13th Tier
Attributes: Darkness / Overcoming
Sword Arts: [Vertical Slash], [Sword Wave]
――――

“What the…”

Something outrageous had happened.

In terms of raw numbers, these were equivalent to level 90 stats, yet the display clearly said level 41.

(…The increase itself seems normal.)

In other words, it was simply the gain from thirty-two levels. Even though I had always possessed abnormal stats for my level, the growth itself was not very different from the protagonist’s.

The protagonist’s level cap was 712, though reaching it would take over ten years and the game became trivial long before that point.

Compared to that, my level cap was only 51.

What was this disparity?

The original Yoan had stood in the way near the end of the story at level 50, meaning he had already been just one step away from the level cap at that time.

A rather tragic man.

(There was another strange item too…)

Something that had never existed in ERT.

Yet it did not seem to be a natural part of this world either.

Why were my stats so abnormally high?

The answer likely lay there.

(Well, I probably won’t know until I reach the level cap.)

Just as I was thinking that—

a presence moved.

At the same time, an overwhelming pressure flooded the room, so intense it felt as if my heart might be crushed.

“—Even after teaching him how to create Spirit Armaments, he still ended up like this. Humans truly are pathetic creatures.”

That figure was suddenly standing there, positioned between me and Sarlo’s corpse.