TBFP 12

Chapter : 12

“Here is……”

“I’ll take you there. Get up.”

“Th-thank you.”

The prince hurriedly got up from the bed with a bow, only to collapse onto the floor.

Seeing no particular reason to help, Chamuka watched quietly as the prince struggled to stand up, gripping the bed.

“I’m sorry……”

Even Chamuka could see his limbs trembling faintly.

He pondered for a moment. It wasn’t that he felt particularly sorry for the prince; rather, he was considering how to get him out quickly.

Normally he would have called a servant, but unfortunately for Chamuka, this was inside the western tower where his mother slept. Servants weren’t allowed in.

‘Why on earth did they bring the prince here?’

The western tower was a place where no one except Chamuka himself, Tan, and his father could enter without permission.

When his father was away for long periods, Hilda would manage it, but since his father was in the castle now, even Hilda couldn’t enter.

‘Father manages this tower so strictly, so why did they suddenly bring this fainting stick of a person here to lie down?’

Chamuka stared at the prince, unable to understand. He thought the prince would avoid his gaze, but surprisingly, those purple eyes met his directly.

“Young Master?”

Chamuka frowned slightly.

Nevertheless, he was young and still retained some emotions. Mostly negative ones like displeasure and irritation, but still.

“Don’t call me that. Just use my name instead.”

Since people who didn’t know Tan’s identity couldn’t be told to call him ‘First Young Master’, there was no point in explaining it, nor did he want to.

“Yes.”

Fortunately, the prince nodded without asking further questions.

Strictly speaking, the prince’s status was higher, but he seemed to understand his position well, as Chamuka had never seen him act like someone of high status.

‘Though this is only the third time…’

Chamuka introduced himself while covering the prince’s head with the blanket from the bed.

“Chamuka Basilinte.”

“What? Yes, Lord Chamuka. But why the blanket……”

“It’s better if you don’t see where this is. Unless you want to die by my father’s hand right now.”

Remembering how servants who accidentally entered here had disappeared without a trace in the past, Chamuka gripped the edge of the blanket covering the prince.

“Follow me.”

Seeing what seemed like a nod, Chamuka led the prince out of the room.

No sooner had they taken a stride into the tower’s narrow corridor than there was a sound of someone falling behind him.

The prince had tripped on the open door and was now feeling around the floor with his eyes tightly shut, as if searching for the blanket.

“I-I’m sorry. I can’t see anything……”

When Chamuka covered his head with the blanket again, the prince seemed relieved. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it.

It felt similar to when Tan would bring back prey. Like something that deserved praise.

“You’re keeping your eyes well shut.”

“Yes. I didn’t see anything.”

At this docile response, Chamuka impulsively reached out.

“Hand.”

“……?”

The prince silently extended his hand, and Chamuka took it, leading him down the tower.

The held hand twitched but at least he didn’t fall like before…..

“Ah!”

The prince stumbled after hitting the curved stair railing. The impact made a loud sound.

After glancing at the stairs they’d barely descended one floor of, Chamuka bent down in front of the prince and offered his back.

“Get on.”

“It’s, it’s fine……”

“Wasting time is more annoying.”

He meant it.

While he harbored a strong dislike for Herta, he wasn’t the type to waste time purposefully tormenting the prince – that would be inefficient.

Like a true Basilinte, Chamuka didn’t engage in unproductive actions for emotional reasons.

The first time he met the prince was actually an exceptionally emotional day for Chamuka.

‘Come to think of it, why was I so shaken then?’

Although being young meant he was slightly more affected by emotions than the Basilinte adults, to others it probably looked the same either way.

“……Thank you.”

After hesitating, the prince climbed onto Chamuka’s back.

Noting how the prince was lighter than Tan, Chamuka firmly gripped the prince’s legs.

‘If I run, he might bounce off.’

Giving up on quickly descending the tower, Chamuka walked slowly.

“Isn’t it difficult?”

“Not really.”

“It must be bothersome.”

“It is.”

Rather than the prince being bothersome, it was this situation of using the prince as a hostage that was annoying.

Chamuka trusted Hilda, who had at least learned something from Astrid, more than his father or grandfather who knew nothing about magic.

He didn’t think the death of one child would change anything anyway.

But he was a bit curious.

“Do you know my father wants to kill you?”

“Yes……”

He had thought as much. Small and starved, constantly shrinking back and watching others’ reactions – he was far from the image of an arrogant Herta royal.

He must be a prince without backing, brought here after being told he would be killed.

“Did father tell you when he’s going to kill you?”

“He hasn’t told me yet….. It seems His Grace and his father have different thoughts about when. So I don’t know yet.”

For a conversation about his own death, he was eerily calm.

Enough to make even Chamuka, who had almost no empathy left, feel unsettled.

“……”

As they reached the bottom of the tower with the prince on his back, the knights guarding outside showed surprised expressions.

“I will carry him, First Young Master.”

One knight who quickly regained composure reached out to Chamuka, but he refused.

“No need. Father won’t stay quiet if even one person strays from their post.”

The knight nodded and stepped back, his eyes clearly showing agreement with Chamuka’s words.

Chamuka found that irritating.

His father’s irrational obsession with this western tower that even these knights knew about.

Leaving the tower behind, Chamuka made his way toward the forester’s lodge where the prince and his entourage were staying.

“I can walk if you let me down.”

“This is faster.”

“But it must be tiring……”

“I told you it’s not tiring. How heavy could one child be.”

At the situation of a child calling another child a child, the prince was silent for a moment.

“……I’m eight years old.”

Chamuka knew nothing about the prince before him – not his name, not his age, absolutely nothing.

It was natural since he had no interest whatsoever until the prince appeared before him.

But at least Chamuka had never seen an eight-year-old of this size(?) within his common sense.

“Are you really claiming to be an eight-year-old prince? Even if they say Herta royalty can get away with anything, how many years are you adding to your age? 2? 3?”

Actually, it was subtracted. Leticia Borba was 10 years old, and Sion Herta was 8 years old.

However, what Chamuka overlooked was the physical difference between the people of Basilinte and the Imperial citizens.

During the past 300 years in the harsh Basilinte territory, the small and weak couldn’t survive.

Naturally, as only those who could survive in the barren land remained to marry and have children, after 300 years, the current Basilinte territory residents had grown quite large.

It wasn’t for nothing that Imperial citizens denied being the same race, calling them barbarians.

Of course, the Basilinte territory residents also viewed Imperial citizens as a weak race that couldn’t properly function as humans.

“If I were five, wouldn’t I not understand what dying means……”