Turning-Chapter 862

A sharp slap lit up Kiole's cheek. The prince, fuming, shook the hand he had struck him with.

"Taking advantage of my disoriented state to act on your own? I never said you could do as you pleased. If you truly intended to protect me, we would've fled this dangerous place long ago—so what's your real intention for still being here?"

"......."

"If you thought I would be easily fooled by that kind of excuse, you're sorely mistaken. Put me down at once!"

His cheek was burning. It felt like the inside of his face had split open—he could taste blood, metallic and bitter. The pain surged in right after. Kiole slid off his back and stared blankly at the prince's furious face glaring down at him.

Only one thought consumed Kiole's stunned mind, overwhelmed by the violent shock:

'...Did I just get slapped? Me? Just now...?'

He'd been scolded plenty by his father. Insulted subtly and not-so-subtly by his older brothers. Sycophants had flattered him to his face and slandered him behind his back more times than he could count. But no one had ever dared raise a hand to Kiole like this.

The shock that all the hardships he'd endured today to save the prince had been brushed aside in an instant was crushing—but what shook him more was that this boy, acting like he was scolding some useless servant, had dared to lay a hand on someone from House Diarca.

Kiole da Diarca was the youngest noble son of House Diarca—untouchable. If anyone even laid a finger on him carelessly, they'd have to apologize on their knees for insulting Diarca. If someone wounded him, they'd pay with their life. So much so that even after becoming a knight, no one dared spar with him properly, afraid of harming him. He had to practice alone for over a year.

...Granted, there had been one exception—Yuder Aile, that rough brute. But even that monster had never slapped Kiole in such a degrading way. That monster treated everyone—Kiole included—like trash, aside from his master, Duke Peleta. Wasn’t he the same lunatic who’d even insulted Duke Diarca to his face? He wasn’t someone who followed any rules. This situation couldn’t even be compared to that.

Even when the prince acted spoiled and reckless, as if he had some kind of hold over Kiole, the young man had held it in.

Because it was a rare task his father had trusted him with. Because, in the end, the prince was part of House Diarca. Because even if he was going too far now, Kiole believed it was just the brainwashing from that con artist...

But this—this was something else.

"......."

"You’re not answering?"

The prince kept yelling, raising his hand again. But this time, Kiole grabbed his wrist before it could land. freeweɓnovēl.coɱ

"How dare you! Let go!"

"...It seems, Your Highness, that the con artist has riled you up too much. For now... let's return. If you don’t wish to be carried, I will support you... at least."

Though humiliated, Kiole forced down his curses and bit back his rage, his pitch-black eyes sinking into icy stillness as he stared the prince down. The prince flinched slightly, then immediately acted as if he hadn’t, thrashing even harder.

"What?! Did you just call him a con artist...?! Let go! I said let go!"

Kiole no longer humored the prince’s tantrum. He grabbed hold and started walking. The prince stumbled, his foot sinking into the wet ground.

"You dare behave like this and expect to get away with it?! Are you not afraid of your secrets being exposed to the world?"

Secrets? What secrets. As if they were even real. Kiole let the prince’s threats drift past one ear. He could feel the boy slapping at his hand, shouting, but he was so buried in humiliation that none of it hurt.

To be honest, compared to all the things Yuder Aile had done to him, the punches from a weak child who didn’t even wield a sword felt less threatening than a kitten’s swipes. Even if he still couldn’t manifest a single shard of Aura at his age, Kiole was still a knight.

What he hadn’t expected was how insanely the prince had lost it.

"...Agh!"

The prince, being dragged along, suddenly bit down hard on Kiole’s hand. With a grimace, Kiole wrenched his arm away like he’d touched fire, and the prince glared at him with blood smeared across his lips.

Seeing his own blood on the boy’s mouth, Kiole felt his final thread of rationality begin to snap.

"What exactly do you expect me to do?! Do you plan to stay here forever, getting pelted by hail, in this dangerous place?! Have you forgotten that your identity must remain hidden?!"

"Kneel."

...What? Kiole blinked, doubting his ears. The prince repeated the command, shrieking:

"Kneel! Can’t you hear me?! Kneel before me right now and confess your sins for ruining everything! If you don’t, I won’t move a single step from here."

"......."

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

"You dare... You dare ignore me? Did Duke Diarca give you permission to do that?! You expect me to entrust my life to a mutt who doesn’t even know his place?!"

"A mutt? Is that what you just said?"

For the first time in his life, Kiole da Diarca felt dizzy from another person. If the boy in front of him wasn’t the Crown Prince, he would’ve spat on the ground and walked away that very instant. But unfortunately, he was the Crown Prince.

Already pushed to the edge of his patience, Kiole trembled as he clenched his fists. His hand throbbed, his head and body ached from the hail, his soaked body was freezing, and the fury had left his head pounding worse than any of it. Everything was so awful he felt like crying.

‘Why... Why ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) am I doing this? Why the hell am I here?!’

He had made a mistake. The moment the prince fled and boarded his carriage, Kiole should have turned back and ridden straight to the capital. His father might have scolded him, but he wouldn't have had to endure this humiliation.

Maybe kneeling was the right move to calm this lunatic down. But Kiole just couldn’t do it. Shaking with fury and humiliation, he bit his tongue—when suddenly, the prince stepped forward and raised his leg.

"You thought I didn’t know? You believe you’re above me. Since you won’t willingly kneel with that precious knee, I’ll just have to help you."

The prince kicked him. Kiole grunted and stumbled a step back. The prince smiled for the first time—a beautiful, chilling smile, so radiant it made him look like a demon.

At that moment, Kiole understood. Kachian la Orr—the Crown Prince—took genuine joy in seeing others flounder and suffer because of him. It wasn’t brainwashing. Kiole had seen that expression before—noble children who were just born that way.

To the prince, the danger of the situation meant nothing. What mattered was forcing Kiole to kneel and submit.

The prince kicked him again. And again. A third time. He was determined to keep kicking until Kiole finally knelt.

Thud. Thud. Thud. It didn’t really hurt, but the humiliation of it all crushed him. Just as Kiole hesitated, not knowing what to do under the degrading abuse, he suddenly sensed multiple presences nearby. From afar, someone cupped their hands around their mouth and shouted. A woman’s voice, it seemed, though the hail and darkness made it hard to be sure.

"Hey! Are you people?!"

Even the prince, mid-kick, paused briefly. The woman shouted again.

"Why are you still here?! Run! There’s a monster! If you’re lost, this way—!"

"A... A monster?"

Fighting among Awakeners was already bad enough—but now a monster, here? In the middle of the temple’s central grounds? Kiole muttered dumbly, then quickly turned his head.

"Your Highness. We must flee!"

"Why would a monster suddenly appear in the temple?!"

"I don’t know either! But everyone’s running, aren’t they?! We must go now! Even the weather was strange from the start. Enough with this pointless talk—!"

Just then, the prince slapped Kiole’s cheek again.

"Pointless talk?"

"......."

"You expect me to believe you without even one clear explanation? You, and those others, might all be in on it. I don’t trust you anymore. Step aside! I’ll return only after I find the Sage!"

"You..."

He was so stunned it actually brought tears to his eyes. Kiole gritted his teeth and was about to yell—

Crack!

With a sound like a rock shattering a piece of fruit, the prince collapsed forward, face-first into the mud. A particularly large and solid hailstone rolled off his back and tumbled to the ground.

"......."

Kiole stared at the hail, dazed, then slowly lifted his head.

A woman in black mourning clothes, her long dark hair pinned up, stood before him.

Kiole knew who she was.

"...The First Princess of House Hern..."

"Sir Diarca. What on earth... are you doing here?"

Mayra asked, her face deeply tired and worn.