The Prince Doesn’t Cry From Mere Onions

“Your Highness will no longer be able to smile.”

The magician’s voice was as soft as a lullaby.

“Your Highness will no longer be able to show anger.
Boiling rage will burn your insides, or be channeled through a sword pointed towards your enemies.”

After pronouncing such irreversible declarations, he took his brush dipped in blood and began to draw lines on the cut-open chest of Bertram, a prince of the country.

With every brush stroke, the rock embedded in Bertram’s heart writhed.
The bone of a dragon.
From now on, this would be Bertram’s main artery.

Before closing up the chest, the magician said, in a slightly sad tone, “Your Highness will no longer be able to cry.
When the corpse of His Majesty returns from the battlefield, even on the day of the funeral… you will not be able to shed a single tear.”

“That is fine.
This is what will make me a strong warrior.”

Bertram was a young man of only sixteen years, yet his voice was firm.
His strong will could be felt from his eyes, blue like the ocean, underneath his black hair.

It was because he had this will that he must be throwing his body into battle, but….

As the magician drew his final line, he spoke.

“The people want a strong leader, but they also fear an emotionless one.
Your Highness may not be able to sit on the throne even after the war is over.”

“Even if I lead us into victory?”

“Yes.
When tears do not fall from your eyes in front of His Majesty’s corpse, the people will call Your Highness a monster.”

Bertram could not understand what that meant.

But he was now unable to express even his doubts on his face.

With a bitter smile, grieving the prince’s fate—the magician stitched the prince’s chest closed.

Six years after the very day the prince threw his body into the battlefield.

The war ended in defeat.

The country fell into ruin, and many of the youth could not return home.

Their living expenses conscripted to the nation, the people were simply sitting on their hands now.

In order to calm the chaos, Prince Sadle, brother to the previous king who died at war, rose to the throne in his place.

By doing so, they were ignoring the prince who had come of age during the war, but there was nobody who opposed the ascension of Prince Sadle.

On the surface, it was because he had acted as proxy to the king during the war and had done all the king’s duties.

In reality, it was because they did not want to serve a sword-crazy monster who had lost his emotions as their king.

The prince, Bertram, did not weep even at the funeral of the previous king.
His blue eyes that did not know how to smile were as turbulent as the whirlpools of the winter sea.

Only when he was swinging his sword like a monster at the front lines did they feel any vitality from him.

He was a trigger that reminded the people of the war.

And so, Prince Sadle ends up deciding to separate his troublesome nephew from state affairs for a time being.

The Prince, who’d gained a long, long vacation overnight, thus chooses to….

***

Three years from that time.

In the vast countryside potato field, a stern voice of a woman rang out.

“Anything you want to say before you die!”

“What? Are you telling me to die just because I filched some potatoes?”

The two thieves raised their heads, dumbfounded.

But Anna, the farm manager, did not waver, and continued seriously.

“The potatoes from t