The Crown Prince Who Raises a Side Character

In his youth,

Alces admired adventurers.

He dreamed of a life spent charging into the unknown in search of romance and treasure, sitting around campfires with comrades, sharing memories, and solving problems for those in need.

His father, a retired soldier, scolded him for it.

He said being an adventurer was all flash and no substance. A real job, he insisted, was finding work as a soldier somewhere, and if Alces was determined to aim higher, he should swallow his pride and beg a knight to take him on as a squire.

Like most headstrong sons, Alces rebelled.

He ran away from home and became an adventurer. With natural talent, he quickly rose through the ranks.

He earned sums of money the average commoner could only dream of and gained a respectable title as the head of a branch.

But that was the peak of his dream.

His skills, once soaring, began to plateau—then stop altogether.

He made good money, yes. But once he factored in the savings needed for retirement, even that didn’t feel like much.

What brought him the deepest despair, though, was realizing that the reputation he thought he’d earned was little more than praise inside a narrow well.

Even with the title of fourth-rank adventurer and a branch head, to the proud nobles of Birka, Alces was nothing more than “a convenient pawn.”

He would never forget the look on that noble’s face when, with pride, Alces asked for a knightly title.

That mix of contempt and disbelief—like someone demanding something far beyond their station—was burned into his memory.

He’d been furious, but he couldn’t show it.

Because the «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» noble had a knight at his side.

Even if they were both fourth-rank and could wield aura, that didn’t make them equals.

A knight raised from childhood with systematic training, well-fed, taught the inherited techniques and swordsmanship of a noble house—such a man had far more than an adventurer could ever claim.

Even if their cultivation levels were technically similar, the difference in refinement was undeniable.

And even if he somehow won—what then?

What of the other knights and soldiers under that noble? What of the collective fury of Birka’s aristocracy at a commoner daring to raise a blade against their own?

Alces was no longer the dream-filled boy who could afford to take such risks.

He was an adult, and as an adult, he made the “smart” decision.

His pride was trampled, but he gained safety and stability.

And from then on, his “smart” decisions continued.

He ignored a noblewoman’s plea to save her daughter—because the one who’d taken her was a noble’s son.

He turned away from the villagers begging him not to abandon them—because they couldn’t afford to pay his party.

When he came across a lich during what was supposed to be a routine request, he didn’t fight to the end—he begged for his life. He had no intention of dying to satisfy some foolish sense of heroism.

Eventually, he became the servant of the lich. No—its disciple.

He helped gather living sacrifices, but Alces felt no guilt.

After all, an adventurer’s life had nothing to do with honor.

What was the problem with abandoning something you never had to begin with?

“Hey, Alces. Did you hear? That mage Blanca—apparently her staff broke, and now she’s completely fallen from grace. Got kicked out of her old party, drowning in debt... I heard she’s about to get hired as a guild receptionist.”

That unpleasantly satisfying piece of gossip reached his ears one day.

“Really? Well, being a receptionist’s more stable than being an adventurer. Better than getting mangled in some dangerous mission.”

Truthfully, Alces barely had any connection with Blanca.

But it annoyed him—that woman, endlessly chasing down the lich with blind determination, while he worked in the shadows as one of its pawns.

He’d even thought he might have to deal with her someday.

So to hear that she’d self-destructed?

He drank to that news with a light heart.

And then.

One day, an odd young man turned everything upside down.

“Frencia’s security seems rather lacking. Armed thugs kept attacking me, and I had no choice but to use some simple self-defense. I hope Your Lordship stays safe as well.”

A lunatic—who brazenly provoked a noble, a man who was practically royalty in his own domain.

A monster who toyed with Sir Gudrun, a knight so powerful even Alces couldn't guarantee victory, as if he were a child.

Bern.

That red-haired adventurer resolved the entire Frencia incident before Alces could even sabotage him. And on top of that, he stirred the entire adventurer guild into action.

The mage Alces thought was finished had become a terrifying force beside Bern. People started comparing them—Alces, a man with decades in the field, to some fledgling rookie who hadn’t even been adventuring a year.

Outwardly, Alces smiled and acted like a gracious senior welcoming a promising newcomer.

Inside, he was fuming with unease and resentment.

That strength.

That bold, unprecedented momentum.

That willingness to embrace the foolish dreams of an idealistic girl—without scoffing, without ridicule.

Bern was living the fantasy Alces once dreamed of but gave up on.

Such a person shouldn’t exist.

Adventurers like that—like something straight out of a storybook—had no place in reality.

Because if they did...

Then Alces was nothing more than a failure who gave up halfway.

Emotionally. Practically.

Alces had no choice—he had to kill Bern.

He had to.

Slash! Thud! Boom!

But now, as the scene unfolded before his eyes, all Alces could do was gape in shock.

What... what am I even looking at?

Every time Bern swung his sword, monsters with durability exceeding forged steel were sliced like straw.

The tank of Alces’s party—capable of blocking charges from berserk magic-infused boars—had his limbs shattered and thrown to the ground by a single kick.

The archer who had fired a poisoned arrow had it reflected right back—his throat pierced by his own shot.

A skeleton mage’s curse spell hit nothing but the floor where Bern had just stood. A corrosive slime capable of dissolving metal exploded into foul liquid from the pressure of Bern’s strike, drenching nearby allies in its remains.

This... this is insane...!

The space was magically sealed—light-suppressing enchantments from the lich made it impossible to see even an inch ahead unless you had magical support.

Bern’s vision should’ve been pitch black.

And yet, he effortlessly evaded and countered hundreds of attacks from every direction.

If Bern had been swinging aura-infused strikes or using overwhelming force to bulldoze everything, Alces might not have been this horrified.

But Bern wasn’t using aura as a weapon. He was merely flowing magic into his blade to enhance it—no massive bursts of power, no armor-like magical shields.

In other words, Bern’s cultivation was still just fourth-rank.

Just like Alces.

A fourth-rank adventurer, like him, was single-handedly dominating this impossible battlefield through sheer skill alone.

“...Don’t screw with me. Don’t screw with me!!”

Eyes wide, Alces reached into his coat and pulled out a black orb.

The “Mark of the Disciple” he’d received from the lich oozed malevolent energy as it seeped into his body, triggering grotesque transformations.

Crack. Snap. Stretch.

His muscles swelled grotesquely. Veins bulged across his skin like cobwebs.

Blood began leaking from joints under the strain of the unnatural enhancement—but Alces, lost in fury and madness, didn’t care.

CRACK!

With a single leap, he left a crater in the stone floor, charging at Bern with his sword raised high.

CLANG!

For the first time since entering this space, Bern was forced backward by an attack.

Alces, seemingly elated by the fact, pressed on, relentlessly swinging his sword.

“What did I do that was so wrong!? I only worked with the lich to survive! To gain even a little advantage—what’s wrong with that!?”

Perhaps the lich’s magic had seeped not only into his body but into his mind as well. Alces, without fully understanding why, began to rant uncontrollably—pouring out all the bitterness that had built up inside him.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Even at Alces’s barrage of sudden confessions, Bern remained composed. Calmly, he deflected the incoming blows with his sword.

“Have you ever watched those people who desperately begged you to protect their village from monsters turn around and refuse to pay the reward once they were safe!?”

“Have you ever fought a crime syndicate to recover a boy’s keepsake from his dead parents, only to have him vanish without even saying thank you!?”

“Have you ever followed a treasure map given to you by a fellow adventurer who swore you could handle it—only to fall into a trap that nearly cost you your life and everything you owned!?”

“Have you ever entered a duel for the sake of a noble lady who cried and begged you not to let her be married off to some thug—only to have her turn around and say, ‘That filthy adventurer tried to force himself on me’!?”

With each shout of despair, Alces’s strikes grew more ferocious—and finally, his blade grazed Bern’s body.

The blood that spilled from the wound hadn’t even reached the floor before it turned to glowing dust and vanished. Yet none of the others in the room seemed to notice.

“Talk all you want about romance and ideals, but in the end, reality always stabs you in the back! Dream all you want about adventure—but you’ll just end up used by scavengers! You’re no different!!”

The fiercer Alces’s assault, the more wounds began to appear on Bern’s body.

In Alces’s eyes, a twisted thrill and satisfaction gleamed.

That’s right. This red-haired adventurer was the same as him.

Even if he seemed exceptional—even if he looked special—he would break, like everyone else, under the cruelty of reality.

He’s just like me—

“—Hmph. You done talking?”

Spin.

Alces’s world turned upside down.

Like a guiding maneuver in swordplay, Bern twisted Alces’s attack trajectory and slammed him into the ground with brutal force.

As Alces tried to scramble to his feet, Bern crushed his ankle with a stomp, grinding the bones to powder.

Alces howled like a beast.

Only then did he notice that he was the only one still making any noise.

A thought flickered through his mind—and he desperately tried to reject it.

No. No way. That’s not possible.

That... that can’t be real...

Bern looked down at him coldly and spoke.

“I told you, didn’t I? You won’t be dying—at least, not until the very end.”

Stunned.

Alces looked around, forgetting even the pain shooting through his ankle.

In the darkness, the only one left standing was Bern.

Everyone else—his comrades included—lay crumpled on the ground, defeated.

Bern hadn’t taken wounds because he couldn’t handle Alces’s attacks.

He had simply allowed a few openings while simultaneously slaughtering all the others.

Looking down at the completely broken Alces, Bern spoke.

“I get it. You’ve had your share of hardships. Not sure why you felt the need to spill your guts in the middle of a fight, but I guess strong emotions do that. And for what it’s worth—”

Bern paused.

“I don’t really think you’re a ‘bad’ guy.”

Alces gaped in disbelief.

To hear anything resembling praise from Bern—it didn’t compute.

“Pursuing a dream, chasing after something almost impossible—it’s hard. In the end, your life is your own. You gave up chasing your dream, and I don’t think I have the right to judge you for that.”

Bern added that he didn’t see himself as some virtuous role model either.

“I’m not opposing you because you’re wrong. Or evil.”

“Then why...?”

“Preference.”

Without hesitation, Bern declared:

“You gave up on your dream and compromised with reality. She—she’s still fighting for it, no matter how many people laugh at her. No contest which of you I prefer.”

A heavy silence fell.

Alces opened his mouth, then slumped and muttered,

“Guess I misjudged you. Thought you were some fairy-tale hero. Turns out you’re just a pompous bastard.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Now then—shall we begin?”

“Begin what?”

Bern pointed with his blade toward a nearby undead.

Its limbs had been hacked off—only the torso remained.

“From now on, I’ll be asking you questions. I expect answers that are quick, precise, and polite. If not...”

He gestured casually to the mangled corpses littering the floor.

“I’ll personally try out everything I did to your friends—on you.”

His tone was as calm as if he were discussing the weather—and that made it all the more chilling.

“Now, for the first question... hmm. No, let’s begin properly.”

He raised his voice just slightly.

“First question—”

Where are the captured victims being held?

In the pitch darkness, where no light should shine, it felt like Bern’s unseen eyes flashed with menace.

Alces swallowed hard.