A Blend of Romance and Fantasy Chapter 26

Chapter 26

“Brother… that’s the Syncestirum.”

The name alone carried weight.

The Syncestirum.

To put it simply—

A divine lottery box.

One draw.

One relic.

And once chosen—

No other relic could ever be used again.

“…This will grant you a relic suited to your fate,” said Erdan.

“…Brother…”

Couldn’t I just live quietly?

Was that really too much to ask?

As expected—

Power meant trouble.

And trouble meant responsibility.

I had already done my part.

I was born a princess, fulfilled my duties, and even rewrote the story itself.

It should have ended there.

But now—

Divine power.

A relic.

Another burden.

“Hah… is this really the fate of a transmigrator?”

I let out a dry laugh.

“My romance route might be ruined, but I guess I really am the heroine after all.”

“Charlotte, what nonsense are you saying?”

Behind me, Aurora muttered with narrowed eyes.

“…Nothing.”

I stepped forward.

Smiled.

“If I can’t avoid it… I’ll enjoy it.”

Erdan smiled faintly.

“That’s the Charlotte I know.”

He removed the cloth.

A golden box emerged—

Softly glowing pink.

Beautiful.

Mysterious.

The Syncestirum.

Drawn in—

I reached out.

The surface opened like a blooming flower.

Mist curled upward.

“Put your hand inside.”

My throat felt dry.

Still—

I did it.

Something brushed my fingers.

Cold.

Metal.

A chain?

Startled, I grabbed it—

And pulled.

Something heavy emerged.

A bow.

Arrows.

A saddle—

All tangled together in the chain.

“…What?”

Dawn — Training Grounds

The next morning.

The training grounds of Singcester were quiet.

Different from Blake Empire.

Here—

Targets resembled monsters.

There—

They were human.

To Leonard—

This place felt strange.

But right now—

That didn’t matter.

He swung his sword.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Trying—

To forget.

“I swear it on Ragnarok’s heart!”

The words echoed.

Relentless.

Unwanted.

Ragnarok.

A name tied to something he should never forget.

Pain.

Despair.

Horror.

Yet time—

Cruel as ever—

Was dulling it.

“…Hah.”

He exhaled sharply.

Lowered his blade—

At the sound of footsteps.

“Your sword is clouded.”

Leonard turned.

“…Duke.”

As expected—

Cedric Myers.

“I wished to see Blake swordsmanship. Will you spar?”

“…You’re the strongest holy knight on the continent. I’d lose.”

“You’re too modest. Aren’t you called the Descendant of the Dragon Slayer?”

“And you were the Prodigy of the Holy Sword at fourteen.”

A pause.

Leonard turned away.

“I’ll leave the grounds to you.”

But—

Cedric moved faster.

“Then let me call you by another name.”

Steel flashed.

A sword drawn.

“Death-Eating Demon.”

“…!”

Everything stopped.

Leonard’s hand tightened.

Veins rising.

That name—

Should have vanished.

Buried.

Forgotten.

“…How do you know that?”

Cedric’s voice remained calm.

“I heard you were sent to Thanatos. A criminal unit. A child carrying original sin.”

“….”

“And now you stand before me as a prince.”

Silence.

The air shifted.

Cedric’s blade gleamed—

Pure.

White.

Leonard’s greatsword—

Heavy.

Gray.

Opposites.

Leonard slowly smiled.

Crooked.

Dangerous.

“What do you want? To expose me? Drag me down?”

“I have no such intention.”

Cedric’s voice was steady.

“I only act for Singcester.”

“Then why tell me this?”

Leonard’s hand rested on his sword.

Calm.

Controlled.

Cedric watched him.

Carefully.

“…Because I want one thing.”

A pause.

Then—

“I want you to let Her Highness go when this ends.”

Silence.

A peaceful morning surrounded them—

Birdsong.

Distant laughter.

Sunlight.

Yet between them—

Tension.

Sharp as steel.

Leonard almost laughed.

“…Your devotion is impressive.”

A beat.

“I was planning to let her go anyway.”

“You will?”

“She isn’t property.”

His voice lowered.

“And—”

He stopped.

No.

That wasn’t necessary.

“…Forget it. We’re done here.”

He walked past.

But—

“…I’m sorry.”

Leonard stopped.

That word.

He hated it.

Didn’t understand it.

“…For what?”

Cedric didn’t answer directly.

Instead—

“I pity the life you’ve lived.”

Silence.

No anger.

No rage.

Just—

Empty.

Leonard’s hand moved.

Gripping his sword.

Cold steel.

Familiar.

Comforting.

“…You know,” he muttered,

“I think I wanted to spar with a holy knight after all.”

He turned.

Eyes sharp.

“So… how about a match?”