The Bride-Hunting Tale: I’ve Failed 20 Marriage Proposals Already. I Don’t Need Titles Like Dragon Slayer or Hero Who Saved the Nation—All I Want Is a Cute Wife!
In the end, my attempt to persuade Prince Morjif failed. Surrounded by unreliable classmates who kept their distance and teachers who, despite their usual air of authority, made no effort to protect the students, I moved to the center of the training field.
Prince Morjif arrived with five upperclassmen, and the only person standing by me was Rist. Then, as if they had been waiting for Prince Morjif ‘s group, four more upperclassmen joined in.
Oh, so this is going to be a group battle of 10 against 1, huh?
Well, after two and a half years since enrolling, I haven’t lost once in the military affairs training, so it’s probably safe to assume they gathered everyone to ensure a surefire victory against me. At this point, I’m starting to get genuinely annoyed. I’ve put up with enough, and I got them to agree that I wouldn’t take responsibility for any injuries and they wouldn’t complain afterward. So, should I go ahead now?
“Haa, don’t overdo it, okay?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll definitely hold back.”
Even though I said that, Rist didn’t seem to trust me at all, shaking her head while pressing her hand to her forehead.
…Isn’t that just rude?
“Well then, let’s begin the curriculum-mandated one-versus-many mock combat session. If you’re scared, we can take it easy on you.”
“Is that so?”
“However, in that case, you would have to apologize publicly for your previous rudeness.”
“I respectfully decline.”
“…Don’t regret it later.”
I carefully rejected the offer, but for some reason, he stormed off angrily with a flushed face.
For someone supposedly of royal blood, his words sure lack decorum. Maybe his tutor needs to step up.
Prince Morjif and the upperclassmen were already equipped with wooden swords, wearing simple yet effective protective gear: leather helmets, torso armor, gauntlets, and greaves.
I went to retrieve my own practice wooden sword. The teacher handling the equipment gave me a pitiful look, but seriously, if they wanted to help, why didn’t they stop the prince?
The wooden sword was about the same size as a standard longsword, with a total length of just over 1 lead (approximately 80 cm). Of course, being wooden, it didn’t have a blade, but even so, a direct hit could break a knight’s bones, and a full-on strike to the head could be fatal.
It looked like the upperclassmen also had similarly shaped wooden swords, but theirs were slightly longer custom-made ones.
As for me, I didn’t borrow any protective gear.
…Because there wasn’t any in my size.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. Shall we begin?”
With the wooden sword resting on my shoulder, I returned to where Prince Morjif and the others were. As I spoke, the seniors spread out into a fan formation around the prince, who positioned himself at the rear, the focal point.
Of course, the commander wouldn’t charge forward right from the start.
While I stood there without taking a stance, the upperclassmen began spreading out to encircle me, cutting off my escape routes.
“What’s wrong, underclassman? That grandiose nickname ‘Demon Lord’ will cry for you.”
Actually, I’m the one crying over that nickname.
I kept that thought to myself because voicing it would only invite more taunts. But well, it seems the opponent is ready, so I might as well make my move.
I brought down the wooden sword I’d rested on my shoulder, gripping its hilt.
Sensing the change in my demeanor, the upperclassmen slightly retreated, pointing their sword tips toward me.
They certainly deserved the high praise they received in the Military Affairs Department—quite the reaction.
Though, on my part, I simply focused on ensuring I could swing the wooden sword at any moment.
So, naturally, I gradually directed my fighting spirit toward them.
“Guh!”
“H-Hold your ground!”
It wasn’t exactly intimidation—just a slight signal of “Here I come, ready?” But it seemed to exert quite a bit of pressure, as three seniors in front raised their swords defensively while stepping back.
Their mediocre skills left them unable to find an opening to attack.
Their combat experience likely came from skirmishes with disorganized bandits rather than trained soldiers.
If they accumulated more experience, they might develop the ability to force openings in flawless opponents, but expecting that level from students is asking too much, especially those from territories near the imperial capital.
But that’s only true for lands closer to the imperial capital or central regions.
In borderlands near other nations, encounters with bandits or small enemy squads sent for raids aren’t uncommon.
Lands ruled by margraves and dukes are limited in military strength beyond basic law enforcement; national forces handle larger threats. However, when bandits or enemy units invade, waiting leisurely for national forces to arrive isn’t feasible.
Thus, borderland troops are highly trained to handle situations with minimal numbers. Margrave territories, constantly clashing with neighboring hostile states, share the same need. My territory is no exception.
Having grown up in such an environment, these students considered “highly evaluated” in the academy are no different from raw recruits to me.
Perhaps that’s why, when I took a single step forward, the seniors instinctively stepped back an equal distance.
Prince Morjif barked orders from behind, but since they themselves were unconscious of their retreat, there wasn’t much to be done.
Still, standing here glaring at each other won’t resolve anything.
I could replicate our first encounter and dodge until they tire out, but given nearly five years of their training, that could take a while. Besides, getting further involved with the prince is becoming tiresome.
“So, let’s wrap this up quickly!”
“W-What?! Gah!”
I started by smashing my wooden sword into the gut of the nearest burly guy.
It was a straightforward blow, relying purely on strength without any technique or magic, but it sent him flying several leads without any chance to react.
“Y-You! How dare you, as a third-year—”
Age doesn’t matter, does it?
Kicking the chest of the next guy who remained frozen in place, he collapsed on the spot. Leather armor flexes, so a direct thrust can still deal significant damage.
“Tighten up! Don’t panic! Surround him and attack simultaneously!”
Prince Morjif shouted instructions from behind the seniors.
Yeah, the advice was correct, but it’s meaningless if they can’t execute it.
By the time two of the encircling seniors fell and others moved to fill the gap, I had already dashed past their perimeter.
Feigning a charge toward the prince naturally drew them to chase. I stopped, pivoted halfway around—
Now, instead of surrounding me, all the seniors ended up in front of me.
“Alrighty!”
“Bweh?!”
I kicked the closest guy with momentum, prioritizing knocking him back over dealing heavy damage.
The kicked guy crashed into another, sending both sprawling.
Seizing the moment, I thrust my wooden sword into the unprotected armpit of the fallen foe.
Though I held back, the pain was excruciating enough to prevent any immediate return to the fight.
“Damn it! Die! Right?!”
One shouldn’t tell others to die.
And reacting to a blocked downward strike with surprise? Come on.
After finishing off two rolling opponents, I easily parried an intended decisive blow with my wooden sword, deflecting it upward before striking their necks.
“S-Such nonsense. What are you all doing?!”
Prince Morjif yelled, urging the seniors onward, but in the meantime, I continued methodically defeating each one with precise strikes.
Before I knew it, only the prince and I remained standing.
The five who fell without description are truly pitiable.
“Well, can we consider this match settled?”
Ending it cleanly with a decisive blow to Prince Morjif would secure complete victory, but…
Instead, implying that further action was unnecessary, I tested the waters with that statement. Yet, Prince Morjif glared at me with a face flushed red with anger, looking as if he might explode.
He initiated this whole thing—what did he expect from me?
“We’re not finished yet!”
Even at this point, Prince Morjif defiantly declared, pointing his wooden sword at me.
…Should I just knock some sense into this idiot prince?
“……Haa~… Very well, I surrender!”
After exhaling deeply, I raised my hand toward the teacher watching from afar and announced my surrender.
I wished the referee would step closer, but complaining anymore felt exhausting.
“What?!”
“Myself—and by extension, House Restal —are loyal subjects of His Majesty the Emperor. There’s no need to raise arms against members of the royal family unless necessary. Training is one thing, but it’s our duty as nobles to prevent drawing swords against royalty. I hope you understand.”
Kneeling on the ground, I watched as Prince Morjif clenched his teeth in frustration. Eventually, he lowered his wooden sword and turned away.
Though clouded by resentment, I heard he’s fundamentally competent.
Realizing it wasn’t wise to press further in public after witnessing my display of strength, he backed down.
Besides, I never intended to oppose or antagonize the prince in the first place.
“Did we manage to settle things somehow?”
“Who knows. He seems quite tenacious.”
Please, stop making ominous predictions like that.
“More importantly, isn’t it significant that you achieved a perfect victory against nine fifth-years? Look, the Military Affairs teachers are glaring at you with intense eyes.”
At Rist’s words, I glanced toward the teachers and immediately regretted it. Their gazes were akin to staring at a lifelong enemy.
Seriously, wasn’t I blameless this time?