The Regressed Prince Holds Many Secrets

Chapter 188

It was a terribly filthy house.

Behold, the trash that filled the entrance.

Whatever it once was, it surely wasn't born as trash, yet now it was just useless garbage.

Otherwise, it wouldn't be giving off such a foul stench.

I closed my eyes at the sight, which was hard to look at, but the stench couldn't be blocked by my eyelids and it invaded my nostrils.

That bearded man skillfully navigated through the garbage dump that I didn't even dare to enter.

He looked quite used to it.

The bearded man, who seemed to fit better amongst the trash than on a clean street, was just as terribly filthy as his house.

He looked exactly like a hairy mushroom.

It was a very insulting expression to use for a person, but it was true.

The bearded man's beard reached his waist, and it was clear that it had never been groomed even once.

It was so bushy and swollen that from a distance he looked like a human-sized, hairy mushroom.

Not only did he look like a mushroom, but he also smelled like a fungus.

The smell of alcohol, the smell of saliva, and all sorts of other indescribable stenches mixed together!

Seeing his vagrant-like appearance, which made it hard to believe he even had a house, I was reminded of the sewers of Merion.

The cockroach fiends there seemed to have been cleaner.

Amethus and I hesitated at the entrance, unable to go any further.

The bearded man peeked at us from between the trash.

"It's probably uncomfortable for you to stay here, right...?"

Only his two dark brown eyes were visible between his beard, hair, and dirty fuzz.

He sparkled his eyes with some kind of expectation.

"I can find you another, heh, place to stay even now.... Like the tavern owner Henson's place...."

He didn't hide his desire to kick Amethus and me out.

I noticed his feelings but paid them no mind and turned my head.

"Amethus."

"Yes."

"We'll have to clean it."

"It seems so."

"I'll do it."

At my words, Amethus took a step back.

The house was in a terrible state, and it was obvious that it would take a long time to clean even with hundreds of hands.

But if hundreds were not enough, then thousands would be.

I recalled the promise of the Seven Secrets.

"It'll be over soon."

The first Ars of the Septem Arcana,

'Fantasy Finger'.

Invisible hands emerged.

Amethus and the bearded man saw nothing.

It just seemed as if some invisible force had appeared, and then the house began to be tidied up in an orderly fashion.

Each 'Fantasy Finger' had a slight degree of self-awareness.

It was only very slight, but it meant I didn't have to specify every single cleaning action.

They opened the windows, dusted, collected, sorted, and threw away the trash, and swept and wiped the walls, floors, and ceiling.

The mansion was cleaned up before the bearded man could say anything.

Of course, only the entrance where they stood and a few nearby rooms were tidied, while the corner rooms and other floors were still untouched, but it was clear that the environment was much better than before.

"This all has to be thrown away."

I wrinkled my nose.

I tried to distinguish what to throw away and what not to, but everything was for throwing away.

In particular, most of the trash was empty liquor bottles.

Food scraps were rotting everywhere, but not a single drop of liquor was left.

"...Oh, oh, oh...."

While his house was becoming more house-like, the bearded man could only stammer in bewilderment.

After roughly cleaning the house using 'Fantasy Finger', I opened my mouth.

"This should be enough for the lodging fee, right?"

"Uh, yes.... I suppose so."

"Is this the drawing room? Excuse me."

I walked in briskly without even waiting for an answer.

Amethus followed.

The bearded man, though flustered, followed us into the room.

There was a click.

As soon as the bearded man entered, Amethus had locked the door.

There were no windows in the drawing room.

I had deliberately chosen such a room.

With the door locked in a windowless room, only the three men were left.

The bearded man's beard trembled with anxiety.

"...Sir, the door, why did you lock it...."

"I was thinking of having a drink."

"...Yes?"

The bearded man trembled.

"...W-w-why all of a sudden.... No, no, no...!"

His eyes widened.

It was because I had taken out a bottle from my coat.

A red liquid sloshed inside the bottle, and the bearded man licked his lips without realizing it.

"Mo, Mo, Moshan Ruby...!"

Faced with a famous liquor that even titled nobles rarely get to see, the drunkard couldn't help but be captivated.

The suspicion of what kind of person I was to just pull out such a drink was pushed aside.

The bearded man was about to rush towards the bottle of Moshan Ruby, but Amethus blocked his way.

"You've lent us your house, so if you answer just one question honestly, this drink is yours."

"Yes, yes, sir, yes! Of course!"

The bearded man drooled.

It wasn't a figure of speech; saliva was actually dripping and making his dirty beard even dirtier.

"Anything, ask me anything!"

"Then I'll ask the same question as before."

I smiled faintly.

"Your name is?"

"......"

The bearded man's eyes sank.

It didn't seem as if his mad craving for alcohol had disappeared.

The man was still glancing at the Moshan Ruby, his hands trembling.

But it seemed that something greater than his desire was weighing him down.

"......I don't really have a name to give, sir."

"A lie."

The regressed prince was skilled at lying, so he was particularly sensitive to the lies of others.

The bearded man's words were clearly, so blatantly a lie that anyone would have noticed, even without being particularly sensitive.

"...A, a lie, you say...."

"What else would it be if not a lie to say you have no name?"

"...B, b, but it's true...."

"So that's how you're going to play it."

I opened the bottle of Moshan Ruby.

A 'Fantasy Finger' grasped the cork and pulled it out, and a dense fruity aroma filled the room.

As its name suggested, it was as if a ruby had been crafted from scent.

The bearded man's nostrils flared.

I pretended to pour a glass of Moshan Ruby and hand it to him, then swiftly threw the glass and all out the window.

"...Ah, ah, ah...! That precious thing...!"

Clang, the glass shattered.

It must have hit a rock somewhere outside.

The precious, ruby-colored liquid soaked the soil, releasing its fragrance.

The bearded man looked as if he was about to jump out the window, but Amethus wouldn't allow it.

I took out another glass from somewhere and filled it with wine.

This time too, I tilted it as if to throw it.

"Are you willing to talk now?"

"...Sir! It's true. I really don't have a name to give...!"

"Hmm. What a pity, you refuse it even when I offer it. Since I don't drink, I have no choice but to throw it away...."

"Aaaah...."

I threw the glass of wine again.

The Moshan Ruby that flew out the window seeped into the soil.

"Still, it's a waste to throw away all of this precious drink. Right?"

"Yes, of course. Of course!"

"Then how about this?"

I smiled.

"My subordinate has a very good intuition. I'll have him guess your name. Just for fun."

"...Yes?"

Before the bearded man could answer, I turned my head.

"Amethus, you said you've had a strange feeling ever since we entered this village, right? What was it?"

"I had a feeling that the White Lord might be in this village."

At the name 'White Lord', the bearded man's eyes trembled. I pressed on with my questions.

"Now that you've looked around, what do you think? Do you think the White Lord is in this village?"

"Yes, it seems so."

"Is it related to this person?"

"Definitely."

Jade-colored eyes and blue eyes stared at the bearded man.

The bearded man flinched, but he forced his lips to move.

"...What are you trying to do...."

"Then, the final question."

A chuckle echoed.

"Amethus. This person... what do you think that name he's hiding so desperately is?"

"It's obvious."

The jade-colored eyes were full of certainty.

At first, he had thought it was just a crazy idea, but as he looked closer, his conviction grew. Amethus slowly opened his mouth.

"This bearded man's name is probably...."

The man wanted to cover Amethus's mouth.

But he couldn't.

Just thinking about it wouldn't make anything happen.

In the end, Amethus uttered that name, the name the man so desperately did not want to hear.

"......Obro. Obro Denoebang."

The bearded man hung his head low.

He neither confirmed nor denied Amethus's words.

I looked down at the bearded man and said.

"Could you explain what that means, Amethus?"

"It's very simple."

His beard and hair both reached his waist.

He's completely filthy and shabby, and seems to have no talent other than drinking.

He's scorned by the locals and even beaten by thugs, and he grovels to outsiders like them, desperate for a single coin to buy a drink.

He's a man in a state so servile and cowardly that it's wretched, yet Amethus is certain.

"It means that he is the White Lord."

***

Obro Denoebang had many nicknames.

The West's First, Knight among Knights, the Genius of the Denoebang Family, Hero.... But no words were sufficient to capture his greatness, nor his noble path.

Therefore, the West needed a fitting title to call their hero.

This is the origin of the name 'White Lord'.

He was called Lord, but it was not a title of nobility.

It was a sign of reverence for the knight who wielded an Ars named 'Purity' and, true to its name, walked a path of untarnished nobility.

The White Lord, Obro Denoebang.

How many people had sung his name. How many hearts had relied on him.

Even after eight years had passed since the White Lord's sudden disappearance, the West had not forgotten him.

But the White Lord wanted to be forgotten.

Because he, more than anyone, was keenly, newly aware every single day that all of that was just a thing of the past.

"...Me, the White Lord...?"

The bearded man's lips twisted. He began to make desperate excuses.

"Th-th-that's a ridiculous thing to say. Yes, a ridiculous thing to say...."

Obro Denoebang made his excuses, but Amethus and I didn't budge.

In the first place, I was a regressor. We were certain that this bearded man in his terribly shabby state was Obro Denoebang.

"I don't wish to argue. But an extremely trained body leaves traces even after several years. Your movements prove who you are."

"......Heh, that can't be, sir......"

Obro, too, couldn't help but notice that Amethus and I already knew his identity.

Yet he couldn't stop making excuses.

His situation was unbearably wretched, yet he smiled servilely and spewed cowardly words.

"......You've seen wrong. Yes, you've seen very wrong. How could a bum like me be the White Lord."

"......"

"Look, sirs. A drunkard like me, heh, how could I...."

Neither I nor Amethus answered.

It seemed we were waiting to see what else Obro would say.

His tongue, already slurred from alcohol, moved here and there, spewing words that were better left unsaid.

"No, well, let's say that's true.... Yes, let's say I am the White Lord...."

Obro thought he should stop talking.

But his body, ruined by alcohol, wouldn't listen.

No, perhaps it was his mind that was broken.

His long-suppressed feelings were bursting out.

"...So what do you want?"

He clenched his teeth.

He was tearing at his own beard without realizing it.

"If this damn drunkard was once... called by such an undeserved, yes, an undeserved and again undeserved... name, if he was that Obro fellow who foolishly mistook himself for a hero......"

His face, reflected in the liquor bottle, was grotesquely distorted.

At a glance, it almost looked like he was sobbing.

But Obro did not cry.

Because he had no right to cry.

"......By bringing up that story now, what do you intend to do?"