Chapter 145: Where One Belongs (1)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 145: Where One Belongs (1)
Long, white fingers came together neatly.
Whether it was because the sword held in those hands was more special than any masterwork blade in this world, or because Sispanian's blessing extended to even the smallest of details, the pale, still-growing hands bore neither scars nor calluses.
Those hands, which looked as though they had never touched muddy water, let alone thick blood, rose quietly. Red eyes—which he considered blood-colored, but others insisted were the color of rubies—vanished beneath his palm. Calian raised a hand and briefly covered his face.
He was trying to hold back his laughter.
His slender shoulders shook slightly, then began to tremble so violently one might have mistaken it for sobbing. A moment later, an uncontrollable chuckle escaped him.
And then, he burst out laughing.
He had laughed like this once before, when he visited Alan’s home and saw a writhing, flower-shaped stone statue singing a song. His reaction this time was just as unrestrained.
"Ah, mages."
Seriously.
Mages.
Muttering the word, Calian looked down again at the papers in his hand.
[Why Did We Destroy the Shop?]
[A Recollection of a Time When My Reason Was Utterly Emotional.]
[An Arising Question: Why Are We Unharmed?]
Holding these papers—or more accurately, documents formatted like incident reports—Calian couldn't even straighten his back, laughing so hard he was gasping for air.
"They've all lost their minds," he managed to squeeze out.
To be precise, what Calian held were the mages' incident reports—or rather, their letters of apology.
Apparently, a dispute had broken out the previous night between a few Valkan mages who had gone out for drinks and another group. It escalated into a verbal argument, which the silver-tongued mages won handily. The resentful losers went and brought back their friends. And so, what should have been a peaceful night out descended into utter chaos.
That much was fine.
The problem came after.
They beat people up with magic.
And they didn't just beat up the people; they wrecked the shop, too.
When asked why they had trashed the establishment, they claimed they couldn't remember.
"Why the hell did they even drink? They're already crazy enough as it is."
Ah.
But sometimes, people drink because they're already crazy.
"Still, none of them are the type to drink because they're crazy."
As Calian muttered these words, which made no sense to Yan, he looked back at the reports. He should have known what he was in for the moment he saw the titles. Of course, he knew they hadn't written them this way to mock him. That was precisely why it was so funny.
An incident report titled [An In-Depth Study: The Correlation Between Alcohol and Aggression] was at the very top. It wasn't because the author was the main culprit or the highest-ranking among them, but likely because it had the most "serious-sounding" title.
They were self-aware enough to know what a ridiculous breed mages were.
Until now, Calian had only received reports from mages through Alan and Euria. This was his first time seeing how the rank-and-file actually wrote their reports. The contents were even more absurd than the titles.
"Your Highness, your language..."
As harsh words spilled from the mouth of the flower-like prince, Yan, who was standing nearby, started to caution him but trailed off. Calian was definitely smiling, his eyes and mouth curved in amusement, but the atmosphere around him was different.
He was angry.
Extremely so.
Sensing Yan walking on eggshells, Calian kept his head angled toward the reports but shifted his gaze. He softened his expression and spoke to the tense attendant.
"Don't walk on eggshells. There's no need."
Yan nodded with a slight smile, but he didn't bring up the topic of Calian's language again.
Calian let out a short sigh. "Was anyone else hurt?"
The "anyone else" he referred to were not the brawlers. The mages, who hadn't suffered so much as a scratch, were currently holding their breath inside the Wilhelm Pavilion.
"The shop was somewhat damaged, and a few people were injured, but no one was seriously hurt or killed."
"That's a relief. What was Sir Hertz doing that he didn't stop them? Surely he didn't join in."
There was no mention of Arsen in the reports, and Calian was certain that if Arsen had been there, this mess wouldn't have happened.
"They said he went home before the fight broke out."
Arsen was a mage who loved alcohol but had a weak tolerance for it.
Why on earth did he go out drinking in the first place? If he can't even hold his liquor, why drink and then head back early, leaving the others to cause trouble?
If he said that out loud, the baby elephant would surely start nagging him with worry again, so Calian kept the complaint to himself.
After skimming through the rest of the predictable reports, Calian nodded. "Compensate them first, and summon Sir Hertz."
The mages, who had been dragged off by the Security Force, had insisted the incident had nothing to do with Valkan or the Royal Palace. Regardless of their claims, the Security Force immediately notified the palace.
Alan had been with Calian since early that morning, so Calian ended up hearing the urgent report alongside him. As soon as he heard the story, Alan had asked for Calian's opinion on how to handle the aftermath.
He had asked for Calian's opinion, not Lemain's. After all, those fools had claimed they caused trouble as "individuals," not as members of Valkan.
So Calian had told him he would think about it and sent Alan back. Since the mages had dug their own graves, he had no intention of simply letting it slide.
"Yes, Your Highness. Understood."
"Actually, wait."
Changing his mind, Calian smiled brightly.
At that moment, Franz, who was sitting opposite him quietly moving his fork, paused. The cat on his lap—a creature whose entire demeanor screamed, 'I am Prince Calian's cat, but I prefer Prince Franz'—bristled its fur and let out a low, threatening growl.
Both of them had sensed it: a faint trace of killing intent, utterly unsuited for the dining table. Calian continued, addressing Yan, who was staring at him with wide, clueless eyes.
"Just tell them I'm going myself."
Their first mistake.
Since it had happened, he would make damn sure they never made another one—provided they could even comprehend what they had done wrong.
* * *
Taking a bite of the cookie left by Chief Seneschal Raul, Alan smiled with satisfaction.
"Did Elinne send this?"
Thanks to preservation magic, the unique texture of the coconut was perfectly maintained, resulting in an exquisitely light and soft cookie. It was handcrafted by the personal chef of Elinne, the King of Libern, and it was also the cookie Alan had enjoyed most during his stay there.
Lemain, who had been frowning over the Valkan incident, opened his mouth to say something but then closed it again. He reminded himself that Alan rarely cared about palace affairs unless they directly involved Calian. He also knew that Alan's easygoing attitude always stemmed from having something—or someone—to rely on.
Lemain simply nodded. "That is correct."
If Chase had given Lemain tangerines for Calian, Elinne had sent Lemain cookies for Alan. Finding it amusing that Lemain remained so oblivious, Alan chuckled softly.
"It's not such a grave matter. Don't worry so much."
"The elite forces of the Royal Palace got drunk and caused a ruckus right outside the palace gates. How can I not worry?"
"The two princes will handle it well. It won't escalate."
"You mean to say you've left such a matter to the princes?"
Alan nodded, popping the other half of the cookie into his mouth.
Seeing this, Lemain pressed on. "Surely there is a difference between training an army and cleaning up the messes they make."
"What's so difficult about it? They'll do it better than anyone," Alan retorted with his mouth still full. He swallowed before adding leisurely, "Isn't that what the princes have been doing all along?"
Lemain's face stiffened. He had a feeling he knew what was coming next. He was about to tell Alan to stop, that he understood, but Alan's mouth was already open.
"Cleaning up the messes Your Majesty made."
Yes. It is all my fault.
Having received yet another lecture while discussing the Valkan mages' drunken brawl, Lemain let out a long, defeated sigh.
* * *
Franz stared at Calian for a moment. They had just begun their meal, at a time closer to lunch than a late breakfast.
Slicing his ham, Calian spoke quietly. "...I'm not that violent. I won't be drawing a sword or pulling out a club on the Valkan mages, so please don't look at me like that."
Franz let out a short chuckle. He knew Calian was incapable of lying, so those words had to be sincere. Recalling the past deeds of the man who claimed he wasn't violent, Franz simply gave a half-hearted nod and decided to ignore it.
"Let's go together. We can see Sir Hertz, too. We were supposed to meet yesterday but couldn't, so we might as well go see him now."
"Fine."
Franz's face made it clear he would tag along but had no intention of getting involved. Besides, hadn't he already told Arsen he would bring his younger brother for a visit?
Calian asked Franz, who was swallowing a bite of flatbread baked with white cheese, "How do you want me to handle it?"
"Do as you please," Franz replied, his gaze lowered as if uninterested.
"You seem interested, though."
How Calian would punish the Valkan mages—there was no way Franz wasn't interested. He was the one building Valkan, the first thing he could ever call his own, even if he regarded the mages as 'borrowed goods' that weren't entirely his. He had a stake in this.
That was why he had shown a flicker of concern at that brief trace of killing intent. He was worried Calian might be truly furious with the mages.
"I'm not angry because they drank and caused trouble."
"I know."
"Do you know why I'm angry?" Calian asked, a grin spreading across his face.
Normally, if Franz said he knew, Calian would let it slide. But this time, he was pressing for confirmation.
Franz furrowed his brow. "It's not like you don't trust my word."
"No, I do."
"Then why the sudden change?"
"What change?"
"You never used to double-check," Franz said. "Not before."
Calian's reply was as light as the rustle of turning pages. "Did I not?"
That was what annoyed Franz. He was almost certain he knew why Calian's attitude had changed.
Calian took a sip of the red tomato juice beside him. Then, he met Franz's unchanging stare and continued.
"Brother, if you remain only half-smart like that, you won't last long."
"...I see barking every day has become your job."
Normally, Calian would have laughed off such a remark. But not this time.
"I am going to teach you. Everything."
Sharp, red eyes locked onto Franz.
"So stop just talking about surviving. Stop secretly looking out for me. Stop planning to step back after helping just enough, and stop pretending to be indifferent."
Franz's eyes grew still and quiet.
"And don't even think about living like a corpse, acting as my shadow for the rest of your life."
So that you can finally live.
Because I will teach you everything, and I will leave nothing out.