Crown Prince Sells Medicine

In the novel, “Devil Sword Emperor,” the Second Prince was depicted as “The Model Student.” He exhibited unwavering diligence, unwavering dedication, a strong sense of righteousness, and remained untainted by corruption. His relationship with alcohol, however, was rather feeble, as he rarely indulged and found himself easily affected by its effects.

Raciel remembered.

‘In the original “Devil Sword Emperor,” he got drunk only once. It was when he was facing death.’

A scene from “Devil Sword Emperor” replayed vividly in his thoughts. It was the tumultuous moment when the empire teetered on the brink of collapse.

In this scene, the Second Prince found himself unexpectedly thrust onto the imperial throne, gazing upon the engulfing flames that devoured the once glorious Imperial Capital, Magenta. A heavy silence enveloped him as he mourned silently, his hand clutching a humble cup of alcohol.

The beverage was far from potent—a mere glass of ordinary wine. Yet, its effects were profound. With each sip, the Second Prince’s senses dulled, his mind clouded by the intoxicating drink. It was during this state of inebriation that he met his tragic demise, falling victim to the invaders’ onslaught. This fateful moment marked the complete collapse of the Magentano Empire in the novel.

‘Anyway, the lesson I got from there was clear. You can’t handle your alcohol! Tremendously!’

“…Gulp! Cough! Why… hicc?”

Raciel’s internal outcry echoed as the Second Prince’s complexion abruptly flushed crimson, displaying his inner turmoil. His eyes mirrored a bewildered state, betraying a mixture of emotions.

But it didn’t end there.

His once steady legs faltered, losing their strength.

With unsteady steps, he began to stagger, akin to a drunken crab navigating uneven terrain.

‘It’s done!’

With a firm grasp on the shield’s handle, Raciel’s hand tightened, his anticipation mounting. He could feel the satisfaction coursing through him, knowing that his carefully laid trap had struck its intended target flawlessly.

‘The timing of the Circle Slot releasing the liquor bomb was good.’

Raciel’s meticulous planning came to fruition as he skillfully synchronized his actions with the Second Prince’s advancing Asrahan Core Technique. Recognizing the opportune moment when the prince was engrossed in absorbing mana, Raciel swiftly activated the Circle Slot.

Without hesitation, he unleashed the stored contents within the slot—a precisely measured 0.2 liters of ‘Potent 20 kinds Liquor Bomb.’ In essence, the Second Prince unknowingly consumed a potent glass of Liquor Bomb in a single gulp, unwittingly succumbing to the absorption prowess of his Asrahan Core Technique.

‘This is what I prepared for. Last night. Ignoring the shock of Gardin.’

In an instant, a recollection from the previous night flooded his mind.

Gardin had expressed astonishment upon receiving the unusual request to procure potent liquor, yet Raciel remained undeterred. The potent liquor was an absolute necessity for his plan.

Determined, Raciel took it upon himself to gather the strong alcohol, meticulously blending a sip’s worth from approximately twenty distinct bottles of various spirits. This concoction, known as the Liquor Bomb, was swiftly consumed in a single swallow, its effects expertly harnessed and stored within the Circle Slot.

And because of that…

‘It’s working for sure.’

WOBBLE!

“…Huh?”

Theodore, the Second Prince, found his legs entangled, causing him to stumble precariously. With great effort, he somehow managed to regain his balance, narrowly avoiding a full-blown fall. Utter confusion consumed him, pushing him to the brink of madness.

‘What… is this? What on earth is happening?’

A whirlwind of confusion engulfed him as he grappled with the inexplicable situation unfolding before him. The dizziness that had overcome his being left him bewildered, unable to comprehend the reasons behind his disorientation. It wasn’t just his legs that rebelled against his commands; his entire body seemed to have a mind of its own. The world around him spun, blending the sky and the ground into a disorienting blur.

Perplexity clouded his thoughts; he was utterly clueless. The unfathomable nature of his predicament eluded his understanding, plunging him into a state of uncertainty. The impending loss of consciousness loomed over him, intensifying his distress.

‘Why on earth… why?’

He engaged in a duel with his brother, solely focused on the task at hand. His intent was to strike his brother, who sought refuge behind a protective shield. Triumph was within his grasp as he neared the brink of victory.

‘When I hit the shield… something…’

He assimilated it, the Asrahan Core Technique, from the opposing force.

There was a peculiar attraction, a pull exerted by that absorption.

It was no ordinary mana; it bore an otherworldly essence.

In the aftermath, it proliferated uncontrollably within him, akin to the detonation of a bomb.

‘Why… why is this happening to me?’

Amidst the confusion, disarray, and bewilderment, the Second Prince tenaciously clung to his sword.

‘I must not fall.’

He must have been deceived by an enigma beyond his comprehension.

It seemed as though he had been struck by an unexpected assault.

That was why his head spun, leaving him disoriented.

The Second Prince made a desperate attempt to regain control of his thoughts. After all, this was a duel—a contest where his brother could outmatch him, and where he might endure a blow or two. Such was the essence of a duel.

With this realization, his tumultuous emotions subsided slightly, allowing his once-blurred objective to regain clarity.

‘I will win.’

Today, he would triumph in his duel against his brother. He would knock his brother down in less than 5 minutes. He would earn the acknowledgment of the people. He would receive cheers from millions of citizens in the Empire. He would emerge as the rightful Crown Prince.

That was the path for him, the royal family, the Empire, and even for his brother suffering from disease.

‘So… I will win.’

Clang!

The Second Prince struggled to contain a sensation so exhilarating. With a forceful stomp, he steadied himself upon the ground.

Though his movements remained unsteady,

He pressed forward with determined strides.

And there, at the culmination, stood Crown Prince Raciel.

“Huff!”

Inhaling deeply, he elevated his sword, its edge worn and dull. With a swift motion, he propelled the sword towards Raciel.

Clang!

The clash of sword against shield reverberated through the air.

Raciel faltered, his balance disrupted.

The Second Prince unleashed the power of the Asrahan Core Technique. It assimilated Raciel’s mana, yet hidden within that absorbed energy lay another formidable force, ready to detonate.

‘Well, another one-shot! Won’t you back out?’

Just when Raciel was grinning wickedly behind his shield,

[Releasing 0.1 liters of stored content in the circle slot.]

Simultaneous with the dispensation of the liquor, a message materialized. Second Prince Theodor found himself compelled to ingest 0.1 liters of the potent concoction while completely vulnerable and devoid of defenses.

“…Cough! Hicc!”

Theodor’s countenance flushed an even deeper shade of crimson. His eyes appeared on the verge of popping out, almost bulging from their sockets. Inadvertently, he staggered backward, his grasp on the sword nearly slipping away.

“W-what… Hicc! Sniffle!”

Theodor grappled with a profound sense of confusion. His body seemed to defy his commands, barely responding to his intentions. It felt akin to being afflicted by a potent poison.

The lack of comprehension extended beyond Theodor himself; even the bystanders were perplexed by the unfolding events.

“Why is the Second Prince behaving like that?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“He looks as if he’s drunk, doesn’t he?”

“That seems true… but he can’t be. He was fine just a moment ago. He didn’t drink any alcohol.”

“Well, you’re right…”

Citizens shook their heads, wearing expressions of bewilderment and confusion. The nobles mirrored their sentiments, equally perplexed by the unfolding circumstances.

“Why is the Second Prince behaving like that?”

“Well, I’m not sure…”

“Could he have been hit by an unexpected strike when we weren’t looking?”

“No, that doesn’t seem to be the case. The Crown Prince has only defended, without any counterattack.”

“Could it be then…”

“Do you have a suspicion?”

“Shield arts.”

“Excuse me?”

“From what I’ve heard, those highly skilled in shield arts can redirect the impact from a defensive collision back to the attacker. Elite mercenaries who have survived a lifetime on the battlefield use such techniques.”

“Are you suggesting… the Crown Prince is using such a technique?”

“No, that can’t be. It’s impossible. That’s why I’m confused.”

“…. Yes, I feel the same.”

Confusion pervaded the nobles, and the citizens mirrored their perplexity. The duel had barely commenced, with only a few clashes, yet the Second Prince already faltered greatly.

Such an unfamiliar sight caught everyone off guard. No one had foreseen this turn of events, leading all observers to a unanimous realization: something was amiss.

However, amidst the shared thoughts, Emperor Asterion harbored slightly divergent musings.

‘Something’s strange.’

Positioned on the bridge, the Emperor observed the duel intently.

His gaze narrowed, revealing a mix of suspicion and astonishment flickering within the slender aperture of his eyes.

‘Raciel, the Asrahan Technique, was it real?’

The Emperor’s attention shifted towards Raciel, his gaze honing in on the emblem adorning Raciel’s chest.

Despite the considerable distance between them, even in its subtle manifestation, he could unmistakably perceive the emanation of Asrahan Core Technique energy. It resonated within him—a palpable connection that only those acquainted with the Asrahan Core Technique could sense—radiating from the rotating circle.

‘It’s certain. It’s clear. He…’

Had he concealed this all along?

A lump formed in the Emperor’s throat as he struggled to swallow.

In an instant, a recollection flooded his mind—a memory from two weeks prior. It was the day when he summoned Raciel to the Imperial Palace and presented a proposition: to renounce his title as Crown Prince and yield the position to his younger brother. On that very day, as he attempted to suppress Raciel, the Emperor had briefly sensed the unmistakable energy of the Asrahan Core Technique emanating from him.

‘I thought… it was just a delusion.’

The Emperor had always believed that his eldest son, who had been plagued by illness since childhood, could not have awakened such a formidable technique. He had dismissed it as a fleeting illusion, a mere product of his own desperate wishful thinking.

Yet, now it became apparent that he had been mistaken all along.

It was he who had erred in judgment.

‘Even at this distance, even in a place where the energy of so many people is mixed…’

The resounding resonance of the rotating circle reverberated intensely, stirring a surge of emotions within the Emperor. Unconsciously, his fist clenched, mirroring the escalating intensity of the duel transpiring on the bridge. The situation had undergone a complete reversal.

Whoom! Whooom!

A massive shield swung through the air, wielded by the seemingly frail and diminutive Crown Prince, Raciel. Undeterred, he relentlessly pressed forward, employing a combination of pushing, swinging, stabbing, and striking with his shield.

With each assault, the Second Prince staggered backward. Though he held a sword in hand, it proved utterly ineffective in offense, merely swung as a feeble attempt to halt the Crown Prince’s advance.

The one with the shield launched fierce attacks, unrelenting and relentless, while the one with the sword found himself retreating under mounting pressure. The citizens and nobles of the empire, enveloped in profound silence, bore witness to this perplexing spectacle.

Amidst the vast crowd, an eerie stillness prevailed.

Through this surreal and hushed atmosphere, only the harsh sound of Raciel’s labored breaths reverberated across the expanse of the bridge.

“Ha! Haa!”

His breaths came in ragged gasps.

The weight of the shield bore down heavily upon him.

Suddenly, the sky transformed into a yellow hue.

The limitations of his stamina had prematurely seized his legs, yet Raciel refused to yield.

‘Damn this poor stamina! Thinking I’d give up!’

With unwavering determination, he pressed on.

He tightened his grip fiercely around the shield’s upper handle.

Whoom-!

Originally, shields served as defensive weapons, a function they fulfilled since their inception in human history. However, in the modern era, shields had reached their pinnacle of evolution. This pinnacle took the form of the shield’s top handle.

One could truly understand its potential by merely grasping it once.

The instant you fix your left arm and hand on the original middle handle and firmly grip the top handle with your right hand, you gain complete control over the shield. It transforms into a versatile tool capable of pushing, stabbing, striking, swinging, deflecting, and even piercing, all at your command.

‘It’s almost… like a saddle if we’re talking cavalry!’

Or perhaps like a computer mouse.

Or even an automatic gear shift in a car.

This newfound option elevated the utility of the shield to an entirely different dimension.

Of course, Raciel was a master in utilizing the top handle. His proficiency was honed through mandatory military service in South Korea, thrusting him into battles against his will. Countless sweaty days contributed to his expertise.

“Haa! Haa! Hoo!”

Breathing as if on the brink of bursting.

Driving his unsteady legs forward.

He continued to advance, pressing onward relentlessly.

He pushed and struck with his shield.

Whenever the Second Prince resisted with his sword, Raciel effortlessly deflected it. Seizing the opportunity created by the deflection, he thrust his shield into the vulnerable gap. He relentlessly pressed the struggling Second Prince, driving him further into desperation.

Finally, the Second Prince’s back met the railing of the bridge. He had been cornered, with nowhere left to retreat. As the cold touch of the iron railing made contact with his back, a momentary clarity washed over the fogged eyes of the Second Prince.

“…Hic! Haa!”

He teetered on the brink of losing consciousness.

Yet, the Second Prince somehow managed to summon the remnants of his competitive spirit. He clung to the thread of determination he had nearly lost, gripping the sword’s handle with even greater intensity. With every ounce of his strength, he resisted his brother’s relentless onslaught with the shield.

“…Haaah!”

Despite his staggering state from intoxication.

Despite teetering on the edge of unconsciousness.

At that very moment, the model student, the Second Prince, unveiled the fruits of his arduous and unwavering training.

Swish!

In a fleeting moment, the Second Prince’s sword regained its sharpness, cleaving through space with a menacing aura. Like the claw of a predatory beast, it surged towards Raciel’s head.

However, in that very moment, Raciel vanished. He swiftly dove into the embrace of the Second Prince, propelling his body forward.

…Shaaa.

The sword’s trajectory grazed Raciel’s hair, narrowly missing its mark.

Within the embrace, Raciel had even discarded his shield, casting it aside at some point. With one hand firmly gripping the Second Prince’s waist, the other hand pointed directly at his vital spot.

At that precise moment.

Whirrr-!

From the palm of Raciel’s hand, aimed at the Second Prince’s vulnerable point.

Amidst the ongoing fierce battle.

Amidst Raciel’s resolute breaths.

The ten liters of liquor he had stored within the circle slot were unleashed. The liquor bomb surged forth, striking the Second Prince’s vital spot with brutal force.