The Crown Prince Who Raises a Side Character-Chapter 62: Phantom Thief Dauphin (6). What It Means to Live Strong

“Dad, the villagers are so unfair.”

A girl with orange hair and bright green eyes pouted as she grumbled.

“Just yesterday, they were calling you a savior, a hero. But the moment a rumor spread that the lord found you inconvenient, they started asking you to leave. How can they be so shameless?”

The girl kept turning her head back to glare at the village behind them, clearly still fuming. A middle-aged man offered her a wry smile as he tried to console her.

“My sweet daughter. You’re upset because you got kicked out without even getting to eat your pancakes, huh?”

“That’s not it, okay? I just hate how shameless they are. They cursed the lord for ignoring the trolls near the village, but the moment the lord showed up and cleared his throat, they all went quiet and looked the other way. It’s pathetic.”

“Dahlia.”

The man stopped walking, crouched down, and looked his orange-haired daughter in the eyes as he spoke.

“The villagers didn’t turn their backs on us because they’re evil or selfish. It’s just that they’re so powerless... living each day is already a struggle, so they can’t help but be afraid of what others think.”

In the girl’s eyes, she saw the man before her.

A scruffy beard. Skin weathered and scarred.

His armor was dirty and patched over again and again after countless repairs, with none of the splendor people typically imagined when they heard the word “knight.”

He didn’t even have the means to ride a horse, walking everywhere on foot. He had no proper retinue either—just his young daughter as his only companion.

A knight of the people.

A knight of the weak.

A knight of the lowest places.

No matter how many grand titles he was given, no matter how much praise he received, in truth he was nothing more than a wanderer who often went unpaid even by those he saved—sleeping on the dirt, alone.

The girl couldn’t help °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° but dislike that.

She thought of the knights she had seen in other territories.

They all wore gleaming armor, traveled with entourages, and patrolled on giant steeds as if they owned the land.

Whenever they passed through, people lined up on both sides of the road, bowing their heads, forcing smiles, praising the greatness of the knights and the lords they served, gushing about how peaceful the territory was thanks to them.

Her father could’ve been just like that.

No—he could have lived even more grandly than any of them.

He was strong enough to cut down a troll in a single stroke, and many nobles had tried to recruit a free knight like him into their service.

But he had turned down every offer. He insisted on remaining a free knight, no matter what.

Even though that earned him the ire of the nobility and made his situation worse than ever, he never once wavered in his beliefs.

“There are already more than enough knights who’ll swear loyalty to those kinds of people. That’s why someone needs to fight for those who have no one.”

“To protect the weak, to extend a hand to those in need—that is the true duty and romance of a knight.”

Despite his weathered appearance, his eyes sparkled like a dreaming boy’s as he declared that. The orange-haired girl puffed her cheeks in protest.

“...Yet you won’t help your own daughter.”

“Ahem!”

The man who had just delivered his proud speech was suddenly seized by a fit of coughing, as if something had gone down the wrong pipe. He started sweating nervously.

This was the same man who stood his ground against a powerful grand lord’s threats—but in front of his daughter, who shared in his hardship, he could only shrink and look small.

“W-Well, if traveling together is too hard, maybe you could stay with your friend like we talked about before...”

“You want me to live in someone else’s house and walk on eggshells while I’ve got a perfectly fine dad? What, are you tired of having me around now?”

“Of course not! I’m so, so grateful every day to have you by my side.”

No matter how fine a knight he might be, he knew better than anyone that he wasn’t much of a father. The proud spirit from earlier had completely vanished as he meekly glanced up at his sharp-eyed daughter.

She sighed as she looked at him.

It wasn’t that she disliked her father. She didn’t think he was wrong, either.

But she still couldn’t help resenting those who refused to stand with him.

Even so, she tried to understand.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Just as her father had said—not everyone has the strength to live boldly.

You can’t force courage onto people who are already barely surviving under the weight of their own lives.

That, too, would be nothing less than a cruel and violent act.

***

“...This is the worst.”

Was that muttered line just a dream? Or was it because of what happened last night?

Even Dahlia didn’t know the answer, as she welcomed a thoroughly gloomy morning.

In her first encounter with the phantom thief Dauphin, Dahlia had been defeated.

She had somehow managed to protect the client’s body, but that was it.

She hadn’t caught Dauphin. She hadn’t stopped him from stealing the valuables from inside the estate. She hadn’t even prevented herself from smashing a portion of the very building where the client was staying.

After the client collapsed and lost consciousness, the captain arrived and unleashed every insult imaginable on her. She helped clean up the chaos, then managed to grab a few hours of sleep back at the guard dorms.

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According to the 8th Platoon grunts, when you’re truly exhausted, you don’t even dream—you just close your eyes and the night is already over, which they say feels incredibly unfair. If that were true, then whose fault was it that she’d still managed to dream even after running around all night?

So many pointless thoughts.

Shaking her head, Dahlia started getting ready for the day.

She knew she’d be getting more of the scolding she hadn’t finished hearing yesterday the moment she showed up to work—but she couldn’t afford to look sloppy. She had to set an example for the guards and maintain trust with the residents.

She wasn’t one to fuss over appearances, so aside from the usual hygiene, the only thing that took time was her hair.

Honestly, she often wanted to just chop it all off. But every time she mentioned it, the women in her platoon would wail, “If you cut yours, Captain, we’ll all have to go short too!” So she kept it long, reluctantly.

She finished getting everything else ready, and just as she was about to put on her armor, Dahlia frowned.

A part of it had been badly dented—probably from the fall during yesterday’s fight.

Normally, it would need repairs, but she didn’t have time, and she didn’t have a spare set. Some of the off-duty female guards who shared her dorm could’ve lent theirs, but none of them had the same chest size—so borrowing would be pointless.

After a moment of hesitation, Dahlia set the dented piece down and pressed on it with her palms, forcing it back into shape.

At least visually, it looked decent again.

Eventually, she’d have to get it properly repaired for defense, but for now, it would suffice.

With the issue resolved, she left the dorm and headed for the captain’s office.

Chances were, the moment he saw her face, he’d start yelling again.

Suppressing a sigh that nearly escaped, she knocked on the door.

Knock, knock.

“Dahlia, Captain of the 8th Platoon, reporting.”

“Ahem! I’ve been waiting for you!”

“...?”

That strangely upbeat voice left her puzzled—but before she could untangle her thoughts, the captain himself opened the door and greeted her.

“Come in, come in! The hero of the Lebruk Guard has arrived!”

Dahlia blinked.

For a moment, she thought this was some new form of sarcasm—but the brightness on the captain’s face didn’t seem mocking.

He didn’t even look like the same man who had screamed at her to get out the night before.

Seeing her bewildered expression, the captain seemed a little embarrassed himself. He cleared his throat and continued.

“Apologies for last night. I suppose I let my fury toward that devilish thief Dauphin get the better of me and may have been slightly harsh with you.”

Dahlia’s mind replayed the barrage of abuse from the night before.

Could someone really describe that storm of verbal assaults—which nearly sent some of her platoon members lunging at him—as just slightly harsh?

Still, Dahlia decided to let it go.

Pointing it out would be meaningless. He was her superior, and besides, she had failed to catch the criminal. She too felt she deserved to be scolded for that.

Which made his attitude now all the more baffling.

“Now, let’s not just stand around chatting in the doorway—come in. Hey, you! Bring something to drink!”

He even ordered refreshments, something Dahlia had never experienced before. As she stood there dumbfounded, the captain leaned closer and spoke in a lowered voice.

“Before you arrived, the treasurer regained consciousness. He expressed great satisfaction with how things turned out.”

“Satisfaction...?”

The criminal had escaped. The valuables were stolen.

How could anyone be satisfied with that?

That was what Dahlia thought, but the captain replied firmly.

“It’s different this time. Dauphin escaped, yes—but he never laid a finger on the treasurer.”

Up until now, Dauphin had effortlessly bypassed every guard, countermeasure, and trap to steal treasures—and then displayed his victims publicly across the city.

Among the noble class, who valued image and reputation above all else, that kind of humiliation was often more unbearable than death.

But this time, he was blocked by Dahlia, managed only to reclaim stolen goods and redistribute them, and never harmed the victim directly. When the treasurer regained consciousness, he held that in very high regard.

After all, he was the son of Count Sarnos—losing a bit of wealth meant little to him in the grand scheme of things.

“Word of what happened last night has already begun to spread. The nobles are full of praise for you. That kind of reaction so soon just shows how closely they were all watching this case. Captain of the 8th Platoon—you’ve upheld the honor of our guard.”

Even as the captain lavishly praised her—something entirely out of character—Dahlia showed no hint of delight.

No matter what anyone said, to her, last night had been a defeat.

The captain’s smile twitched briefly at her indifferent response, but he quickly recovered.

Right now, he needed her.

“The 8th Platoon will now serve as the special response unit for the noble district. Dauphin’s targets are all located there anyway, so it makes sense.”

“...I don’t mind, but won’t the other platoons push back?”

Dahlia herself had been hoping for another shot at Dauphin, so she welcomed the chance.

But she doubted the other platoons, displaced by her team, would be motivated to work diligently in the commoner districts.

“Oh, they’ll push back, all right. And since they didn’t catch Dauphin, they’ll have to prove their worth elsewhere. I’m sure they’ll work very, very hard—so don’t worry.”

His tone made it sound like if they didn’t, he’d personally make them regret it.

Dahlia found his phrasing—“in places like that”—somewhat irritating, but still, if the captain applied pressure on the other platoons, they wouldn’t be able to slack off, and that was a good thing.

There was no need for the motivation to be noble or righteous.

Even if the captain just wanted to boost his own prestige—if the result was that people got help, and the everyday citizens could live in peace, then that was exactly what the guard was supposed to do.

“Maybe breaking order will lead to blood and chaos. But is it right to ignore the suffering of those beneath that order? If you're too scared of the blood, and leave the rot alone... wouldn't it be better, in the long run, to endure the pain and squeeze it out?”

Dauphin’s question drifted through her mind.

If his reckless actions shattered order and trampled noble authority, would they really submit peacefully?

Of course not.

The nobles would fight back. To protect their power and image, they’d clamp down even harder on the people.

But people aren’t strong enough to bear that.

They’re too weak—so weak that just surviving each day is already overwhelming.

So don’t push them.

Don’t force them to fight battles they can’t win.

Even if it’s painful—even if it’s miserable—it’s still better than dying in a hopeless, reckless fight.