I Became the First Prince

to convince the tricky dwarven envoys to come back.

“I want a guide and fifty kegs of your finest liquors.”

The commander had simply replied that he understood.
The thought processes of the prince were quite obvious, for he had obviously also heard the rumors that the dwarves were notorious drinkers.

There was no great expectation in the mind of the commander that the prince could succeed.
He himself had already obtained the finest alcohols from across the realm and gifted them to the dwarven diplomats several times.
That alone had not aided the talks, so the first prince would probably also fail.

The prince had not asked for the finest silken rice wines – he had rather demanded the cheaper liquor that the soldiers drank.

Still, the commander had prepared all the kegs, as he had been asked to.

Great was his surprise when the first prince had instead used the liquor to host a drinking game for his own retinue, instead of offering the kegs to dwarven envoys!

It was absurd.

He had heard that the prince was no longer indolent and ignorant, but it seems that nothing had changed.

The commander could only cluck his tongue, for he did not understand why the king hadn’t sent him some competent envoys.
Perhaps the kingdom had given up on re-establishing its former friendship with the dwarves?

The commander took a stroll as he considered this chaos, but then a knight ran up to him and gave a report.

“Commander Sir! You should come at once, if only for a while!”

When the commander asked the knight why he was so urgent and panicked, he was met with a dumb stare.

Still, the commander decided to hurry to the hall where the prince and his servants held their little party.

Royal blood was royal blood, after all.

‘Badang! Klank! Bang!’

The commander was startled by the big bang that he had heard and so hastily entered the hall.

“Noooo! What kind of guy are … is you? Huh!?”

“I fall alone here, ah, fell alone.
Alone!”

A man with a ruddy face was lying on the floor, babbling nonsense.

The men standing around him were laughing and giggling.

“Whats are you talkin bout? Hah!? Therse are twenny nine glassesess riiight here!” came a drunkard’s drawl.

“Oh well, that’s what you say, but I counted them exactly.
You had twenty-two tankards.
The one you just drank had been your twenty-third,” came the calm appraisal of one of the referees.

“Huh? Hey! This guy here, he’s trying to trick us!”

The men raised their voices as their tongues wagged, a few of them matching the commander’s gaze.

“Huh! I missed you so, John.
Why did you go first, John?! Hah?”

“Okay, okay, don’t panic now, my child.
If you … if you do, I too must… Aaaahhh.
Haah, why my child? Why?”

Some men were hugging each other and shedding tears.

And there, to one side of the chaos, was the first prince.

“That one and that one … eliminated.
Don’t give them any more.
Tcha,” the first prince instructed, and then clucked his tongue, acutely observing the drunken depravity of his men.

“First, a headcount.
Jordan, Carls, Arwen, Gwain, and Adelia are still in it.”

“She’s just been holding her cup and… doing that, Your Highness.”

“Okay? Well, she’s still lively, at least.”

The commander now knew his ideas were as innovative as those of the first prince.
He chuckled as he admired what Prince Adrian was doing and then gave a cough to get his notice.

“Your Highness, what are you doing?” he asked.

“It is exactly what it looks like,” came the prince’s response.

Even though the entire scene was shameful, and even while the commander felt ashamed, the first prince’s face was a study in shamelessness.

“Didn’t Your Highness say that you are leaving to meet the delegation the day after tomorrow?”

The commander wondered whether it was wise to get everyone so sopping drunk ahead of a critical mission.
The first prince didn’t budge an inch – he was so casual.

“Yes, so? I am conducting an examination before we meet the dwarven delegation.”

“What exactly is-“

“If dwarves are drinking, then – and only then – can you change their minds.”

The commander sighed.

“The envoys from the capital have come here many times.
I myself had offered the dwarves the silkiest of wines this past month, but their attitude had not changed in the slightest.”

The first prince clucked his tongue at the commander’s words.

“You have wasted a month’s supply of fine wine, then.”

The first prince looked at the commander as if the man had not a lick of common sense and then continued explaining.

“Dwarves prefer drunken friends, instead of gifts of drink.”

“What does Your Highness mean by that?”

“You can’t just give them the stuff.
They want to drink with you,” the first prince said, then spoke to one of the referees.
“Oh, eliminate Carls over there.
His eyes have begun to roll in their sockets.”

The former palace knight was furious and started to scream that he was not drunk.

“You bumped a barrel, Carls.
You’re out.”

“Your majesty, the dwarves haven’t even spoken whole sentences when they were here,” the commander continued.

“Oh, and you think that that’s their basic state?”

In the background, Carls was shouting that it was all so unfair as he shook his head this way and that way.

The first prince observed this, clucked his tongue, and turned back to the commander.

“Dwarves don’t speak long words unless they are among friends.
And the fastest way to become friends with dwarves,” the first prince stretched out his hand to show off the drunken chaos around him, “is to pour, drink and die with them.”

The commander looked at the first prince with some embarrassment, and the prince then rose from his seat.

“Hey! Let him go!”

The call was urgent, and the commander turned his head.
A woman was staring at a table with her head bowed.

“Oh shit!”

The commander watched as the prince ran toward the table, and then a creepy voice filled the hall.

“Why did you do that to me….”

The voice sounded like someone weeping.

“Adelia! No!”

At that moment, a red and yellow light shone from the woman’s eyes.

* * *

The drinking contest came to an abrupt halt due to the uproar Adelia had caused.

At least by that time, it had been roughly decided who had the right talents to meet with the dwarves,

Arwen, Jordan, and Gwain were the only ones who had survived the drinking with a semblance of honor.

And among the three of them, Arwen stood the most firm.

Even though she had drunk much, her face color had surprisingly remained unchanged.
If it was not for the sharp tang of booze wafting from her, one could believe that she didn’t drink at all.

Jordan and Gwain had started to show some signs of intoxication, but they had held on to the end.

Carls was also fine but definitely excluded from the list.
It was known that the dwarves hated those who used mana while drinking, and he had done so.

Adelia was also excluded.
She had inherited many talents from her ancestors, but somehow couldn’t hold her booze!

She had gotten drunk after her first tankard and had suffered terrible effects.

I hadn’t thought about what would happen if she got drunk with those terrible traits of hers.

The price for my ignorant negligence had been terrible, for not even [Poetry of Submission] had worked to stop her drunken riot.
And to face such a rampage from a Sword Master was a fierce event, one not easily halted.

Thanks to her rage, all the furniture in that opulent hall had been broken, and many bruises were left on the faces of knights who had tried to subdue her.
I had to go to great lengths to finally calm the storm that was Adelia.

Bluntly: Everyone agreed that it was good fortune that no one had died.

It was absolutely something that none of us wanted to witness again.

“In all cases and at all times, don’t let even a drop of alcohol touch your tongue.”

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” Adelia apologized with a bowed head.

I could not really blame her, as it had been my doing, but I stressed my point multiple times: “Adelia, never get drunk.”

When the contest was over, I told my party why I had hosted it.
I told those of them who weren’t under the care of doctors, at least.

“Alcohol retention is an essential skill for when one deals with dwarves.
That is why you have to drink the day or days before you visit them.”

Arwen and Jordan were naturally jolly about the mission.
Gwain, though, he surprised me.
A man like him, who sharpened his blade so that he could one day gain his revenge on me, had still volunteered to meet the dwarves.

When I asked him why he did, he did not answer.
I took my three drinkers and an assorted group of others to help us.
We left the fortress with three wagons that were stacked to their sides with kegs and barrels.

“There it is.
The camp of the dwarven folk is just around that hill there,” a western soldier – who had been guiding us – said as he pointed out a hill in the distance.

“Good.
Everyone, unpack here and set up camp.”

I left Carls and the others behind.
I picked out only Arwen, Jordan, and Gwain, who had proven themselves, and ordered each of them to steer a wagon around the hill.

And there it was: A camp filled with dwarves.
Their stocky figures surrounded a campfire.
Even if they noticed our party’s arrival, they did not so much as turn their heads to look at us.

But my eyes could see the truth of the matter.

These stout liquor enthusiasts were keeping their ears pricked as they heard the sound of booze sloshing in barrels as the wagons trundled along.

“Halt here,” I ordered as the wagons rolled into the entrance of the camp.

I jumped from a wagon, carrying a keg on my shoulder.
We went straight to the bonfire and plopped down among the seated dwarves.

The dwarves, who were smoking from their pipes, turned to me.

As I met their gazes, I uncorked the barrel.
The tingling scent of its contents slammed into our noses as it spread itself through the dry air of that wasteland.

I laughed as I saw the dwarves unwittingly clearing their throats and moving their mouths in desire.

“Let’s empty one keg first!”