Chapter 82
Chapter 82
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>Translator: Lord First
>Chapter: 82
>Chapter Title: Meeting the Families (3)
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*
“With this, I could even fight back if I were ambushed while combing my beard.”
“Exactly.”
Ivan trembled with the joy of finally meeting a man of common sense.
It is a well-known fact that a man is most vulnerable to ambush while combing his beard, so there was no need to elaborate.
It was a meeting of minds that transcended age and era. People call a truth that holds true regardless of time or nation a universal principle. Yes. In that moment, they had grasped a universal truth.
Einar, endlessly impressed, balanced the comb on his finger, flicked out the hidden dagger with a click, and changed the comb's form.
Wow, a transforming comb. And it wasn't even magical—just pure, solid metal. The weighty reliability was incredible.
It was the same kind of awe men feel when they handle a firearm for the first time. The functional beauty of precisely interlocking metal parts. Any man would be impressed.
“Can I try it….”
“Absolutely not.”
“What? Why?”
“You fundamentally lack a sense of hygiene.”
“…?”
Ivan looked with pity at Einar, who was tilting his head in confusion.
What was this guy talking about, with breadcrumbs from this morning still stuck in the corner of his braided beard?
To Ivan, his beard was an attempt to emulate even a fraction of the former king's style.
In other words, it was an "image of style." Because the Platonic ideal of style could only be possessed by the former king.
Therefore, Ivan spent a long time every morning and night grooming his beard. It was the highest form of etiquette he could show. A concept akin to a morning greeting.
The men of Droan, however, were not like that. Those bastards grew their beards with the simple thought, "Hair grows, so I'll grow it." They would braid it, and if they spilled beer on it, they would just squeeze it out, shake it off, and be done. (Not really.)
He could not dare entrust his treasure to the leader of such men.
After hearing the full explanation, Einar was lost in a confusing mix of emotions, unsure whether to be angry or feel wronged.
Just then, he heard a faint sniffing sound.
“Hey, wait a minute.”
He strode over to the director's office window, grabbed it, and flung it open.
“…”
Below the window sat a couple of kids who looked like orphans and Isabelle, her face on the verge of tears.
“This is unexpected.”
Upon seeing Einar's face, the orphans all fled, but Isabelle remained where she was, looking up at him.
That face, those eyes—even Einar knew them well. The resemblance was striking. Einar smirked.
“Maximilian's daughter.”
“…Yes, Great King.”
“Great King? Just call me uncle.”
Einar shrugged and rubbed his brow. He had assumed his brothers had secured the perimeter. What was this?
“How much did you hear?”
“…”
“You heard everything. Right.”
Einar let out a deep sigh.
“We'll talk about this later.”
He closed the window and stepped back. Ivan showed no sign of surprise.
*That bastard, he knew.*
Einar chuckled and returned to his seat.
“Is this room soundproofed?”
“No. If I did that, I wouldn't be able to hear what's happening outside.”
“Right. You're not the type… Tsk. You knew, didn't you?”
“It's something that child needed to know.”
“Hardly. You'd let a little kid hear that her own father might have gone mad? And what, is this place some kind of assassin training camp disguised as an orphanage? How did those kids get right under my nose without me noticing?”
“That's a misunderstanding. Those children are all war orphans.”
War orphans are pitiful children who must always live cautiously, mindful of others, of society, and of the world.
It was only natural for such children to walk with caution. Ivan, too, tacitly encouraged this behavior.
After all, if the children who would one day have to go out into the world could master at least one skill, their chances of survival would increase.
Einar, however, didn't seem to accept this simple logic. No matter how enlightened he seemed, he was still a pre-modern man.
“What kind of orphans can sneak past my brothers and get right under my chin? Even among the demons, few could do that.”
Einar laughed hollowly and walked toward the director's office door.
“The reason I came to see you is pretty much meaningless now, but I have to ask. Are you seeing Esidis these days?”
“Mm.”
“Right? I knew it… What?! You are?! You're seeing her?!”
“Mm.”
He had even been feeding her and recently started helping with her training.
Einar scanned Ivan's placid face, wiped his forehead again, and then smoothly drew his axe.
“Get out here right now, you bastard!!”
There was nothing in the law books of Droan about resolving a situation through dialogue with a scoundrel who had snatched and toyed with a dear friend's daughter in a foreign land.
*
A curse?
A tainted soul?
The Seven Dragon Generals and the Demon King…?
Having heard such an incredible, utterly unbelievable story, Isabelle felt confusion before sadness.
It was difficult to accept, let alone understand. Gods were like still lifes, their existence merely hinted at through priests.
For the people of this era, it was so. Gods existed, the afterlife was absolute, and the holy scriptures were to be prioritized above all other laws, but they did not live their lives feeling the "real" presence of "God."
Therefore, stories of killing a god or receiving a god's curse were usually regarded as vague lines from a myth.
Isabelle stumbled in her confusion, her steps aimless.
‘Father.’
She tried to recall the Hero, a man whose features were now so blurry she could only vaguely recognize him in exaggerated statues.
She couldn't clearly remember his voice, his manner of speaking, or any of his distinct traits.
It could be because they had parted when she was too young, or because the time they spent together after the war was too short, or because he was simply too great a figure for her to comprehend, but…
‘No.’
She knew now that wasn't the reason. A sudden chill ran down her spine.
Her perception of the Hero Maximilian was made of colorless, transparent memories. She had definitely met her father briefly at the victory banquet.
He had been a man who smiled brightly and shone brilliantly. That's how she remembered him.
But was that really how it was? Isabelle couldn't be sure.
The Hero, her father, was "fading." Like paint bleeding under the brilliant chandeliers of the victory banquet. Slowly…
Her father hadn't gone into seclusion. He hadn't retired into hiding.
He couldn't handle himself. Yes, to put it more clearly… to interpret it mythically, he had sealed himself away.
What would happen if a man who could single-handedly split the sky, strike off the Demon King's head, and break through armies of tens of thousands were to be consumed by madness?
The fear that now traced its way down Isabelle's spine was likely just an echo of the emotion Maximilian himself had felt first.
Because the Hero knew better than anyone what he was capable of.
If an individual capable of slaughtering nations and societies were to wield his power solely for madness and desire, what would we call such a person?
A demon king.
Worse, he would become a demon king in a world without a hero. An unstoppable catastrophe. Humanity could not endure another war.
So, Maximilian sealed himself. Because he, more than anyone in the world, could quantitatively predict what he was capable of and what would happen as a result.
The common people, unaware, were forgetting the Hero's final sacrifice.
The nobles who devoured the wealth and territory left by the dead Demon King and the defeated demons mocked the vanished Hero.
And the abandoned Isabelle had resented her father.
The man who had dedicated his entire life, his very being, to the world.
“Bella? Are you crying? Oh my gosh, what's wrong?! You look so…”
“Esidis…?”
“Yes, yes, I'm here. What's going on?! Come here, drink some of this… let me wipe your tears…!”
“Esidis… Esidis… what do I do…”
It seemed she had wandered near the school. Perhaps her feet had naturally led her down the familiar path.
Isabelle sobbed and fell into Esidis's arms.
“What is it? What happened? Hmm?”
“The Director…. What's going to happen to the Director…”
Only after forcing the words out did Isabelle finally realize why she had been crying.
It was pity for that man, Ivan. It was grief.
Her father, Maximilian, had sacrificed everything to slay the Seven Dragon Generals and kill the Demon King.
And it was the same for Ivan. He, too, had killed a Dragon General and received the same curse, losing a part of his soul.
It was natural, then, to assume he would meet the same end as the Hero.
He would either lock himself away before being consumed by madness, or be swayed by it and perish on the executioner's block.
That clear, inevitable future was so sad, so pitiful.
Realizing the reason for her tears, Isabelle broke down and sobbed.
“It shouldn't be like that. Right? Esidis…. It just shouldn't be.”
The great heroes who gave their entire lives, who set themselves aside to achieve feats no other human could dare accomplish.
If the end for such great men was merely to lock themselves away, awaiting a lonely death. Isn't that too unfair?
While the people who live in ignorance and the monarchs who leech off the heroes' achievements from the shadows amass wealth and fame so happily.
A world where the heroes who laid the very foundation of this society are left to rot alone in the dark—isn't that wrong?
If there is a God, it shouldn't be this way. If the Lord truly loves humanity, it cannot be this way.
Isabelle wept, thinking of her father, of Ivan, and of all the other heroes of the last war she did not know.
Esidis wrapped her arms around Isabelle's shoulders and gently patted her.
*
When Elizaveta arrived at Saint Vasilisha Orphanage, she covered her face, unable to hide her dismay.
The orphanage had been turned into a place that was once an orphanage.
“King Einar.”
“Oh, Elizaveta. It's been a while.”
“Is this… a declaration of war?”
At a flick of Elizaveta's hand, a royal guard rushed to tend to Ivan, who was lying on the ground. Nothing else could be tended to. The orphanage's grounds had been turned into a crater.
“To enter our country without an official letter, ignoring all procedures, and dare to attack one of my own attendants. Einar. Did you think so little of me and this nation?”
Elizaveta checked the unconscious Ivan's injuries.
Thanks to her long experience as a field commander, she could tell that Ivan's injuries were not severe.
She let out a sigh of relief and slowly stroked Ivan's cheek.
“Pavel.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Do what you must. Krasilov will never yield to a foreign foe who has brought shame upon our kingdom.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
As Pavel took a step forward, the soldiers surrounding the orphanage walls raised their weapons in unison.
Almost simultaneously, the huscarls standing by Einar's side also drew their weapons.
The killing intent grew taut, precarious, as if it would snap at any moment.
In the midst of it all, Einar shrugged.
“Is that temper hereditary? Calm down. If I had to state my purpose, it was all for that man. And if I must make an excuse, this was just a family matter.”
“A family matter? And how is my attendant involved in your family matters?”
“Well, it seems he's about to be. Boys, lower your weapons.”
Einar waved his hand and took another step forward.
When Pavel threateningly raised his spear, Einar smirked and gestured.
“Put that toothpick away, kid. No one needs to bleed today. Elizaveta Kirillovna Krasilov, as the King of Droan, I offer my apologies. I will be sure to repay you for today's discourtesy.”
“I'd like to hear the reason first.”
“Ask him when he wakes up. It was a duel we both agreed to, so any further questioning would be an insult to me. And, when that bastard wakes up, I'd appreciate it if you passed on a message.”
I'll give you my permission, but at least wait until after she graduates to have kids.
With that, Einar turned and walked away.
Blood dripped from his arm, which was clasped behind his back.
Einar clenched his fist and smirked.
*He's gotten stronger, that bastard.*
He walked away, satisfied. His huscarls followed, calmly departing through the surrounding Krasilov royal guards.