The Prince Doesn't Cry From Mere Onions

Franz Gerhart.

The third son of the 12th Duke of Gerhart, known to be the most beautiful and strongest out of all his children.

He was also the man who had become the personal knight of Bertram Hertz Weichter, the prince of the country, when he was merely in his teens.

The appointment was likely influenced because he was Bertram’s friend, but none doubted his abilities.

Twenty-six years old today, there weren’t over five people in the kingdom who could last longer than three rounds crossing swords with him.

…….With such a background, his life should have been one with continuous successes, but…

“Bertram, that fool, what is he doing running all over even to the countryside like this for!”

One of the soldiers who had followed Franz waved his hands.

“Please do not call this the countryside. You’ll have to call this a ‘city’ if you want the guards to cooperate well.”

“If having stone walls makes a place a city, then the Gerhart estate should be perhaps the third biggest city in the kingdom. And there’s no one around to hear me, isn’t that right?”

The place they had been ushered to by the patrol guards was a corner in the public order and security center, where ‘he who disturbs the city’s peace’ was imprisoned.

The human trafficker group squatting on the ground flinched. It was obvious what the icy blue wrath in Franz’s voice meant.

He would not treat the human traffickers like people.

Without a hint of a smile, Franz looked down at them impassively.

 “So a black-haired man as big as a bear interrogated you?”

“Th-that’s right. We told him everything we know! We cooperated well!”

“I don’t care about that. You just have to tell me what I want to know. What was the name of your interrogator?”

The men exchanged glances.

The tiny woman had called him something, they remembered. But it was an unnecessarily long name, and the situation had been so urgent that nobody remembered what it was.

However, Franz was grasping at the sword at his waist, and they needed to squeeze out something.

“Ra, Ram! She called him Ram!”

“Was that his full name?”

“I think she said something lengthier, but…..”

Franz smiled sunnily in front of the men.

The human traffickers were first entranced by his beautiful appearance, then disconcerted. Why had he smiled?

Of course, Franz had his own reasons.

If Bertram was the one who had interrogated the human traffickers, then they would have already had a taste of hellish expressionlessness. Trying to look scary in front of these folks after that would only look laughable.

On the other hand, at the receiving end of a smile that would melt the average woman’s heart easily, the human traffickers had given up trying to figure out the reason for the smile. Instead, they all thought the same thing at the same time.

‘He sure is handsome. If I sold him off, how much would I earn…..’

“…… You’re thinking of something absurd just now?”

“No, sir! How could I dare in front of a sir like y—aaaaaaah!”

A sword had been pushed up against the man’s neck.

“I will not repeat myself a third time. Tell me everything you know about that man.”

“He, he was very big, and very strong!”

“I already said that. Next.”

“And…. He had two country girls as his companions.”

“Next.”

“He seemed to be on knowing terms with the patrol guards.”

“Elaborate more.”

“I heard the patrol guards say ‘that huge guy with the weird way of talking managed to do something.’ As if they’d talked to him before.”

Franz and the soldiers looked at each other simultaneously and nodded.

A huge guy with horrible communication.

That was Bertram, for sure.

“…..But that doesn’t mean you soldiers should be nodding with me.”

“We stand corrected!”

There was no more information to be gained from the human traffickers. It was now certain that Bertram was in this city, so from now on, they’d have to do the legwork themselves.

One by one, the soldiers headed outside.

However, the human traffickers’ sighs of relief only went so far.

When the fourth soldier, who looked particularly meek—perhaps because of his glasses—laid his hand on the door handle, Franz spoke.

“Erich.”

“Yessir!”

“Go outside and close the door behind you.”

The soldier called Erich closed the door as he had been ordered. And that was not all: they could hear the sound of him leaning against the door, as if he was standing watch.

An ominous feeling slithered down the human traffickers’ backs.

Franz remained in the interrogation room. With a bright smile, he lifted a foot.

“It’s true that ‘that b*st*rd’ is a big guy who’s freakin’ bad at communicating.”

“Sir?”

“But you folks shouldn’t dare to talk about ‘his honor’ like that, too.”

And so Franz’s boots slammed down onto their mouths.

***

The village chief drank alcohol throughout dinner that night, to the point that it seemed he would spend all the money they’d earned selling the wolf pelt on alcohol alone.

Anna slipped hard liquor into his cup from time to time. Thanks to her, he had to visit the bathroom countless times, supported by Bertram.

In the meantime, some random soldiers came and looked around the restaurant as if they were searching for someone, but that wasn’t Anna’s business.

Not long after, the village chief was down for the count. Bertram piggy-backed the village chief and threw him on the bed in the men’s room at the inn.

Covering him with a blanket and grumbling at him was Anna’s job.

“I’m telling you, Chief is always enjoying life all by himself. Mark my words, he’s definitely going to go to sleep right now and wake up at dawn tomorrow and nag at us, saying ‘Youngsters these days are just so lazy!’ If Chief orders you to do this and that tomorrow, just ignore him completely, Mr. Bertram.”

“Is he like this every market day?”

“No. He lets himself go as far as he thinks is plausible. He only does this when I come along.”

“In other words, he trusted you, Miss Anna.”

Anna narrowed her eyes.

“No positive interpretations for the village chief allowed.”

“…… I apologize.”

“Well, I might become the next chief, though. But still, this isn’t it.”

“Hm? Is the position of chief not succeeded by the eldest son?”

 “As if there’s anything good about a high position in a countryside village like ours. It’s just a role people who like doing annoying things take up in turns. It feels like only the men get to do it, but just think of how much I’m doing for this village. In about twenty years or so, I’m sure I could become one, too.”

Pride could be felt from the straightforward way Anna spoke. It was a feeling that Bertram could understand.