I'm Not Sorry But The Prince Will Marry Me Anyway-Chapter 110

Of course, what came out of his mouth was different from what he was thinking.

"The only thing I need to tell my fiancée is that I made it back. There’s nothing wrong between us."

"You know, when someone insists ‘there’s nothing wrong,’ it usually means something is wrong."

"...Quit running your mouth and give me the rest of the information—"

"Oh, Your Highness. Just a little further now!"

Rick suddenly blurted out nonsense and pointed at the wall. A faint light seeped through the cracks.

A warning. Someone could be listening.

"Your Highness. Yes, I do believe that way would be a better choice—!"

Overacting as if on cue, Rick hurled a stone toward the side of the tunnel.

With a loud crash, a pit was revealed beneath the debris of an old, broken cart.

The farce continued.

"Your Highness! Are you alright?"

"...I’m fine. Instead of standing there gawking, why don’t you actually help me, you sluggish bastard?"

"I wasn’t expecting Your Highness to be so careless. Did you really believe the ground would be stable just because you’re walking on it? Why weren’t you watching where you stepped?"

"I was moved by the sight of my errand boy quaking in fear before the monster’s overwhelming presence! I felt I had to take the lead!"

"I was not quaking! If anything, it’s Your Highness’s recklessness—oh, it’s fine now. From here, we should be out of earshot."

"Hah... What an embarrassingly low-quality act."

"Your Highness seemed to enjoy improvising quite a bit yourself. And when exactly did I tremble?"

Fair enough.

Despite the uncertainty of their situation, Rick hadn’t shown an ounce of fear.

The most he did was occasionally wet his lips—a sign of focus rather than panic.

Tristan asked, "Have you ever fought a monster before?"

"No. Those things only exist in the North."

"You seem unnaturally calm. You must have been on other battlefields. Civil unrest? Border skirmishes?"

"...I won’t say."

"What’s your relationship with Count Braum?"

"I have no obligation to answer that."

"Not to me, no. But when I charge Count Braum with conspiracy to assassinate the prince, the court will demand full testimony from their only key witness. You’d better figure out what you’ll say by then."

"..."

"Giving me intel isn’t enough to make this deal work. If you really want this to succeed, start using your damn head."

That was his last warning.

The stench of rotting meat thickened in the air.

Tristan tightened his grip on his sword and took the lead.

Behind him, Rick suddenly asked, "Your Highness. My identity... Have you already figured it out?"

"For the most part."

A man in his early twenties with an unclear background, harboring hatred for both the royal family and Count Braum, yet trusted enough by the earl to be used without question.

That alone narrowed the possibilities considerably.

But all of that was in the past.

"I don’t plan to force a suspicion into certainty. What meaning would that even have at this point?"

"..."

"Errand boy Rick Ray. I’ll advance ten meters, then light the lure incense to draw the monster in. If there’s anything else I need to know before then, speak now."

"Understood."

They were close now.

As a low growl echoed from the tunnel ahead, Tristan pushed all thoughts of Doris from his mind.

***

“What does it matter now?”

Tristan’s firm words struck Rick like a blow to the chest.

Of course, he was right. The gamble had ended five years ago. Now, he was just Rick Ray, a glorified errand boy under the guise of a bodyguard for the Meyer family, a temporary worker lent to the royal family by a baron’s house.

‘I never wanted to live in luxury as a count’s son anyway.’

Rick had spent his entire life among commoners. Unlike nobles, who thrived off the labor and harvests of others, commoners lived with vitality and true self-respect. There was no shame in this life.

‘But... Tristan.’

Ahead of him, Tristan’s broad back stood tall, bracing for battle against the beast.

‘Don’t you think I could be a threat to your engagement?’

Tristan and Doris were bound together by the Blue Atrium.

Even if Rick could never be acknowledged as a legitimate son, wouldn’t his mere existence cast doubt on the legitimacy of Tristan’s claim to the Blue Atrium?

...Or was Tristan so certain now that, even without any territorial concerns, he would still marry ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) Doris Redfield?

“Grrrrr...”

His thoughts were cut short by a gleaming pair of eyes emerging from the darkness.

Without turning, Tristan gestured toward Rick. A standard military hand signal.

‘Stay back.’

As if he needed to be told—he had no intention of interfering in the first place. How considerate of him.

With a sharp exhale, Tristan’s arming sword shot forward. The wolf-like beast, easily over five meters long, tried to dodge but slammed into the cave wall instead. A cloud of dust exploded into the air, obscuring vision.

Even through the dust, Tristan’s silver hair gleamed irritatingly.

‘Damn bastard.’

If he were truly a prince, he should act like one—stay back, bark orders at his subordinates, let them do the dirty work.

“...Tsk!”

Blood splattered from Tristan.

The fatigue from yesterday’s battle hadn’t entirely worn off.

Rick’s hand instinctively went to his waist. His fingers tightened around the club he had brought just in case.

If Tristan would just ask for help even once, Rick would rush in without hesitation.

“Kieeek!”

The cave trembled as the beast thrashed. Stones fell from above, striking Tristan’s shoulder, but he never let out a single scream.

A pool of blood slowly formed on the ground. Some of it had to be Tristan’s.

But the outcome was clear.

The moment the beast’s foreleg was severed, it must have realized its own death was imminent.

“Kieee—!”

It didn’t even get to finish its dying cry. Tristan, slicing through its leg, had already driven his sword straight into its throat.

The beast’s body tilted.

Thud...!

“Your Highness!”

“...Rick.”

Tristan turned his head.

Sweat, blood, and dust clung to him, turning his once-pristine silver hair into a filthy mess. His proud chest, usually held high like the walls of a palace, now trembled with exhaustion and wounds.

And for the first time, Rick thought he could understand what Doris had meant when she said, “My fiancé is the most amazing man in the world.”

“...Ha. Would it kill you to help me up?”

...No, he couldn’t understand at all. How could anyone like an arrogant bastard who spoke like this?

“Yes, yes, of course.”

“I’m exhausted. Do you have anything for a hangover?”

“What, do you think I carry that around? Did you drink too much last night?”

“Yeah.”

“You went to bed complaining about a stomachache.”

“...Well, something came up.”

For someone who seemed to live without a care in the world, he still had his own burdens to bear.

Not that Rick had any intention of pitying him. He simply helped Tristan up. The prince was heavier than expected, likely due to his sturdy build.

“Alright, let’s move slowly.”

“Right. ...By the way, are you really fine with Count Braum dying?”

Rick could predict what Tristan meant to say next—‘He’s still your father.’

Without hesitation, Rick replied.

“Yes.”

“...Understood.”

Tristan didn’t pry further, and for that, Rick was relieved.

‘There’s no way I’d ever call the bastard who abandoned my mother my father.’

Even when the count had finally sought him out, he hadn’t bothered to meet him in person. He had merely sent a servant with a letter, saying “It would be troublesome if things went awry.”

To that man, Rick wasn’t a son. He was merely a tool to maintain his wealth and title.

And more than anything...

‘I want to cut ties with this land completely.’

He didn’t want to waver just because Doris was still a Redfield.

Doris was just Doris.

She wasn’t the daughter of the man who had trapped him on that island. She was beautiful, whether with or without a mask...

“Grrrr...”

A sudden growl cut through Rick’s thoughts.

Tristan stopped in his tracks, breathing heavily.

“...Now what?”

“...Damn it.”

The path leading out of the tunnel.

A second wolf-like beast appeared through the lingering dust, blocking their way.

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It must have climbed up through the pit they had exposed earlier.

“So the one from before... No, this one’s smaller.”

“Yes. Still about two meters taller than me, though.”

Rick swallowed a string of curses.

‘That bastard servant of the count... There’s no way he didn’t know there were two of them. Did he keep it a secret in case things went south so he could get rid of me too?’

Tristan was right—the new beast was smaller, and its body was covered in wounds. But that didn’t make it any less dangerous. Its bloodshot eyes glowed with venomous rage.

While Rick cursed Count Braum and his lackeys in his mind—

“...Move to your position.”

“My position?”

“Behind me. You’re in the way, commoner.”

“Hah...”

“Don’t make me say it twice.”

Tristan roughly grabbed Rick’s collar, attempting to shove him behind him. But even in his weakened state, he failed to make Rick stumble.

‘And yet, with those hands so drained of strength, he still insists on standing in front?’

What a ridiculously arrogant, infuriating man.

And the worst part was—

The delay in preparing for battle because of that needless concern.

The beast lunged.

Its gaping maw reeked of blood and rot, the stench of a starving predator.

Which meant—if Rick could smell it—

“Rick...!”

He had stepped in front of Tristan.

‘Ah, shit.’

He hadn’t meant to do that.

The beast’s fangs sank into Rick’s shoulder. But in that moment, Tristan wasted no more time and thrust his sword forward.

Rick saw the blade drive straight between the beast’s eyes.

He couldn’t hear its final scream. His ears rang with a high-pitched beep instead.

Tristan was cursing.

‘No way that bastard is actually worried about me.’

No, why was he even asking why Rick did it?

The answer was obvious.

‘Because Doris Redfield... is waiting for you.’

Damn it all.

That woman actually loves you.