After the Sword Festival
Three days had passed since the Sword Festival ended. Strictly speaking, though, it couldn't be called truly over. No matter how much the Helmonts cherished the festival, it made no sense to carry it through to completion amid such chaos. Arandel was currently immersed in handling the aftermath of the Sword Festival incidents, while Lianna and Roengreen pitched in, dealing with compensations and various tasks.
And Isaac...
“……”
He stood before a small, nameless grave. As the culprit behind Galeniya's assassination, Milli naturally couldn't have a proper tombstone erected. So Isaac had set one up in his own modest way, as a memorial to her. Of course, now that Galeniya's true nature had come to light, perceptions of Milli would shift as well. Unfortunately, the situation was far too chaotic for anyone to spare the time correcting the record over the death of a mere cook.
“……Ridiculous.”
He had already come here every day for the past three days, pouring out everything he wanted to say. Did you forgive them? The sight of everyone in Helmont staring at me in shock. Were you watching from there, smiling? The raw surge of emotion from the start had now settled into a soft smile. Yet there was no grand reason he kept returning daily. It simply eased his heart.
The only warmth he had known in the cold Helmont household—the time spent with Milli. Coming here conjured memories of those days, filling his body with hearth-like comfort.
But one couldn't linger forever. Footsteps approached from behind. Turning slowly, as if greeting a guest, he found Princess Clarice Evangelle Regardia and her guard, Heirad, standing there.
Heirad was a handsome blond man who radiated the refined air of someone raised in luxury, unlike Isaac. Perhaps owing to his role as the princess's guard knight, whispers of a forbidden romance between them circulated secretly among the palace maids.
……That could spell big trouble if caught.
“They said if Isaac's not around, check here—and sure enough.”
“Greetings, Sir Isaac.”
Clarice now greeted him casually, but Heirad bowed with utmost formality. This was one of the stark changes since the Sword Festival. In particular, anyone who wielded a sword regarded Isaac with awe-tinged respect.
“Isaac, time to head to the mansion. Meeting about the transcendents. We're running late.”
Isaac followed without protest. As he walked abreast with Heirad, Clarice deliberately slowed, nudging her guard further back to claim the spot beside Isaac.
“Isn't it ridiculous? Even for Helmont, this is too far.”
“……”
She apparently wanted to vent about the Helmonts—and Isaac made a better target than Heirad. He listened in silence to the princess's gripes, even three days on, as she remained at the Helmont mansion.
“Galeniya's the one who colluded with the transcendents. Fine, I get that. But they just wash their hands of it? 'We didn't know'? 'We killed Galeniya ourselves'? 'The transcendents took care of their own'? They poured everything into this festival they obsessed over, and now they're victims too?!”
‘……More pent-up than I thought.’
Isaac glanced at Clarice with an awkward expression. Heirad turned away, looking sheepish.
“You're joking, right?! With everything going on, doesn't everyone know Galeniya died alone to protect her family?!”
“Everyone except Your Highness, mostly.”
“What a bunch of idiots—!”
Clarice's frustration made sense, but few had grasped Galeniya's true motives. It took intimate knowledge of the details to see it: a catastrophe born purely of love—a frenzy of obsession and affection.
“Love defies logic or words by nature.”
“So that's why you married into Helmont?”
“……”
“Ah, sorry. My bad. Anger makes my mouth run.”
Isaac had no real rebuttal—and that irked him most.
“Sigh. Anyway, Galeniya made the optimal choice in a nightmare scenario.”
“Yeah.”
Regret was inevitable. Her treason exposed to the crown. To shield the Arandel she loved, dying on the spot was wisest—by his hand, no less. It gave Helmont, who would otherwise bow low, room to maneuver. The transcendents' sudden ambush caught even them off guard, limiting casualties despite their infiltration; Helmont knights blanketed the festival grounds. Galeniya had turned the transcendents into sacrifices and escorts for Arandel.
How ruthlessly calculating—Isaac saw it as transcending mere mania.
“They're compensating nobles properly, even holding a massive memorial for the villagers... It's all fine. I get it.”
Helmont's handling was deft enough: owning responsibility while severing ties to Galeniya, sparing no reparations. Despite festival costs draining their coffers, they flung open warehouses without hesitation—their sword-first ethos shining through.
“They own the blame but draw a hard line on guilt. That's what boils my blood. I wanna thwack every Helmont on the head.”
She'd just hurt her hand.
“Know why no one calls them out? It's Helmont. That great sword! That war-deterring might!”
Truthfully, it was Galeniya's gambit, staked on her life—but what point rehashing with the dead?
Isaac and Heirad simply endured the princess's grumbling in silence.
Helmont mansion. Entering the reception room revealed Arandel, Lianna, and Roengreen already there—along with nobles from the Sword Festival, including Uldiran Kaldias and Silberna Kaldias.
Isaac moved to join the nobles naturally, sensed puzzled stares, coughed awkwardly, and sat beside Lianna instead.
“……Late?”
“No, right on time.”
Nodding at her reply, Isaac surveyed the room. Son-in-law or not, he took the Helmont side.
Snikt! Snikt!
Roengreen snorted derisively, glaring at Isaac like a chained hound, veins throbbing in his eyes.
‘Damn Helmonts.’
Helmonts healed with uncanny speed—magic likely helped, but Roengreen's wounds had fully mended.
“Look away.”
Lianna, seated between them, warned Roengreen outright. Her low voice carried, yet he kept glaring.
“Lower. Your. Eyes.”
At her near-threat, Roengreen clenched his jaw and averted his gaze.
“……Didn't know you had it in you.”
“Dogs need dog words.”
Isaac hadn't expected such steel from Lianna. Roengreen flinched anew but held his tongue.
Roengreen's demeanor, Sharen barricaded in her room, Lianna's resolve—Galeniya's death rippled internal shifts through Helmont.
“Alright, let's begin.”
Clarice spoke from the center. Youngest present, yet her princess status let her lead seamlessly.
“Soon, the royals will strike Blackhand territory—their collusion with transcendents confirmed.”
Pre-planned before the festival, delayed by mishaps, but Clarice viewed it as prime opportunity.
“My sources confirm: Blackhand's betrayed the kingdom outright.”
Their lands eerily silent save crow caws, perpetual storm clouds overhead. Informants described the earth itself dying.
“Proclaiming it here? Obviously, we won't let Helmont slink free from accountability.”
Her purple eyes gleamed.
“So, as atonement—and proof you're no traitors—”
She eyed Helmont challengingly. You claim peerless prowess?
“Helmont leads the vanguard.”
Follow us to Blackhand.
Misty rocky peaks. No immortal, but a woman living as one dwelt here.
“Yaaawn.”
A massive bowl-like sake cup. She gulped its contents, her hair splayed across the wooden platform like spilled ink. Beside her leaned an eerily long, moon-curved black blade: a great taedo.
“How dreadfully dull the world.”
She muttered listlessly. Wolf ears atop her black locks twitched. A faceless man materialized before her—no scent, no presence—yet she rose languidly, grinning wolfishly.
“How oft must this master say she won't devour thee? Trembling as a spirit form... 'tis less cute now, more intriguing.”
Her fangs glinted. “Wonder what face thou'd make, faced with me direct.”
Tongue flicking, she growled, itching for battle. Yet the man intoned his message stoically.
—Heard the Sword Festival news?
“Hm? Sword Festival—Helmont? Already that season?”
Another swig, head cocked. Helmont out of nowhere?
—Rumors say Helmont's sword is broken.
“Fools' prattle. Whilst Arandel draws breath, Helmont's blade endures unbroken.”
—Yet the rumors persist, and Helmont denies them not.
“……”
—It could aid us. Wilt thou investigate?
“Hmmm.”
Alcohol's haze lifting her mood? Or sheer tedium? Either way.
“Send a carriage.”
The man vanished tracelessly.
“Damaen! Carriage inbound—prepare!”
“Yes, Master!”
Damaen, waiting at a distance with hands clasped behind, descended the slopes.
“Hmph.”
Rising, she slung the great taedo over her shoulder, snorted at the recalled exchange.
“Broke Helmont?”
Whoever spread it, long-buried intrigue stirred deep within her.