Chapter 169: It Won't Be Peaceful at All (3)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 169: It Won't Be Peaceful at All (3)
When Calian was lost in thought, he failed to watch his step.
When Franz was lost in thought, he lost all track of time.
Therefore, it was only natural that Calian, ascending the stairs, walked right past Franz—who was still standing in the exact same spot—without noticing him.
No one could have guessed the sheer shock Calian felt when he registered the familiar, grass-scented hair of the head he had just passed. He whirled around to find the pale bastard still standing precisely where he had left him.
Still, Calian was a bit different from Alan; he at least had some idea why Franz was standing there. Pausing, he stared blankly at Franz for a moment before asking, "What are you thinking about so deeply?"
If Calian possessed the common sense to apologize for nearly walking into someone, he never would have employed a blue-haired mage who treated etiquette like kindling for his fireballs. Having long since given up on expecting such courtesies, Franz merely gave him a look that said, Is that really the first thing you should be saying right now?
Whether he noticed Franz's mood or not, Calian let out a soft, sigh-like chuckle. "Would it be alright if we skipped sparring and went straight to Chermil Palace? My stomach’s a mess."
Judging by his face, he had clearly just had a serious conversation with Sispanian.
"I'm hungry."
…So, he was hungry.
His stomach was a mess, so he was hungry.
Crazy bastard.
What on earth went on inside the head of a man who, after baring his soul, pouring out a heart-wrenching story, and having a heavy conversation with an ancient dragon, complained of being hungry?
Right. Hunger. Of course.
"Ha."
"And I have something to tell you."
So he didn’t just want to eat; he actually had things to discuss over the meal.
Then again, if he were the type of man with the basic sense to forget everything and rest when his mind was in disarray, he wouldn't have turned Heisia Palace into such a barren wasteland in the first place.
"Let's go. To Chermil."
With a resigned reply, Franz trudged past him and took the lead. Following close behind, Calian suddenly looked up at the sky as if he had just remembered it.
"The rain has stopped."
Just as he said, the rain had ceased at some point. The dark clouds remained, but no more drops fell.
"A moment ago," Calian said, chuckling softly as if it were another gift left by Sispanian, "she came in the form of a black butterfly."
To be fair, if Franz was eccentric, Calian was no better. When it came to speaking without context or making random remarks, they were two peas in a pod. Perhaps that was why Franz, instead of asking what kind of nonsense he was spouting, simply replied quietly, "Why death, of all things?"
Since he was walking ahead, Franz couldn't see him, but Calian nodded anyway, acknowledging he had thought the same thing.
"She asked if I wouldn't welcome it. I couldn't give her an answer."
"...I see," Franz replied in a low voice after a brief silence.
Not fading away and being forgotten, but dying.
Living, and then dying.
Calian had said he feared the absence left behind after he disappeared, but Franz knew that this "disappearance" did not mean a simple death. He knew Calian feared a disappearance where even his death would be forgotten—an erasure so complete that even his very absence would be erased from memory.
An empty space left by someone whose name Franz had never even heard. Wasn't Calian the one who, fearing another such void, vowed to keep Franz completely alive? It seemed only the clever and perceptive Franz would be able to perceive even a fraction of the disharmony left by a completely erased person and fill that void.
"For you, it would be."
For Calian, who was preparing for an oblivion that could strike at any moment, what could be more desperate than a proper death instead of simply fading away?
Thus, it must have been a wish, a blessing, and a comfort offered by the thoughtful ancient dragon solely for Calian. A wish that, at the end of this life, he would meet a death that would not fade away.
Having understood her meaning, Calian could never have denied it. However, even though he knew such a death would be more peaceful than his current life, he still wished to live, so he could not readily accept it either. He was not seeking immediate rest.
Of course, Sispanian would have understood that silent answer on her own. Franz, who understood it as well, kept walking without another word.
To eat.
* * *
The raindrops clinging to the petals were still transparent.
Though they held the deep red hue of the roses, the moment they dripped down, they captured the green of the stems. Once they hit the ground, they took on the brown of the wet soil. Finally, they sparkled briefly in the light of the magic lamps illuminating the garden before flowing away and vanishing.
Was a raindrop truly transparent, reflecting its surroundings exactly as they were, or did it only seem transparent because it already contained all the colors of the world?
Was it empty because nothing was held within, or did it look empty because it held too much? Deep blue eyes, whose depths were just as impossible to fathom, quietly watched a deep red droplet that was just like them.
"I had only heard stories, but it is truly a beautiful place," Lemain spoke, addressing Randel.
He had come straight here after finishing dinner. Wearing a long, black cloak incomparably more uncomfortable than any prince's attire, he had headed directly to Chermil Palace.
Afterward, he had coaxed Randel out of his spacious, empty room, suggesting they take a short walk. It would have been better if Randel had shown even a hint of dislike or annoyance, but he had merely followed silently behind.
"It is impressive that you have cultivated such a place."
"Thank you," Randel replied briefly to the praise directed at his perfectly manicured rose garden.
It was neither a humble dismissal nor an admission of inadequacy, nor an agreement with Lemain's sentiment. He simply offered his thanks, a response completely devoid of his own feelings on the matter.
"Indeed."
Lemain was a man who had never once thought wisely about how a father should treat his child and, as a result, had done nothing but make mistakes his entire life.
The only thing he had managed to learn was that everything was his fault. Even Alan had not taught him what kind of conversation a taciturn father should have with an even more taciturn son.
"There are only red roses here."
So, he simply spoke and questioned at random. Just as he had come here on a whim, he asked questions on a whim. In truth, there were so many things he wanted to know, but what actually came out of his mouth were useless, trivial questions—like whether Randel grew roses of other colors, when they bloomed and withered, or how he pruned the branches.
"Be careful not to hurt yourself on the thorns."
Hearing those words, Randel hesitated for a brief moment. He was reminded of the violet eyes of the stranger he had once met here.
Just as that crown prince had said, he had eventually been pricked by a thorn. That was why he had kept his eyes on the rose. Finding the sensation of being hurt suddenly novel, he had decided not to discard the thorn-covered rose but to keep it by his side.
So, what was it that the stranger had worried about?
Was it the hand that would be hurt, or the rose that would do the hurting?
"I am curious as to why you grow roses. Why you like them."
Lemain, dense as an ox and with no way of knowing what Randel was thinking, asked yet another question.
Even though he would have nothing left to ask if he came back next time, Lemain dragged out every question he could think of. Pushing aside his thoughts of Calian, who had come to mind along with the Crown Prince of Secritia, Randel replied quietly, "I do not remember."
It was an answer far too heavy for such a trivial question. Lemain fell silent, at a loss for words.
He knew it was his fault that Randel had lived forgetting even the reason he liked something. He realized once again that Randel was only eighteen now, and that on days other than today, he must have been much, much younger.
"I see. If you ever happen to remember, I would like you to tell me."
Randel, who had been quietly staring at Lemain, spoke. "Your Majesty."
Before Lemain could even register that Randel had addressed him first for the very first time, the words continued.
"It is already too late to turn back."
Turning back his memories.
Turning back this relationship.
It meant that everything else, too, was already far too late to be turned back.
He had not come to turn things back, but to build them from the very beginning, yet Lemain could not voice his true feelings. For Lemain, it might be creating a relationship that had never existed, but he knew that for Randel, it was a relationship he had already tried to build alone countless times, only to watch it collapse in the end.
"Yes. It would be best not to try and turn things back."
It did not mean he was giving up. It meant he would not force his way toward Randel. No one had told him this was the best way, but he could tell. He was his father, after all.
He still couldn't bring himself to apologize, but at least they had faced each other last time, and today they were walking together, even if only for a little while. He knew that wishing for anything more right now was by no means for Randel's sake.
So, he quietly took a step back.
Only this far for today. We will walk together only this much, and I will return for the rest on another day. With that thought, he took a step back. Then, looking around, he spoke.
"Now that the rain has stopped, the wind is blowing."
It was just as Lemain said. A breeze had picked up. Lemain's long cloak fluttered.
The hem of his wind-blown cloak caught on a rose thorn.
Lemain, dense as an ox, didn't even notice.
"We should head inside now."
After saying so, he turned and took a step forward. By the time Randel noticed, it was too late, and Lemain only realized after the damage was done.
Snap!
The rain had stopped, so the wind blew. The wind caught his cloak. The roses had thorns. And Lemain was as dense as an ox.
And so, several roses were snapped off, tumbling to the ground.
Randel's blue eyes lowered toward the fallen flowers.
And then, he stared at the ox-like Lemain.
He stared at Lemain for a long time without a word, not even bothering to hide the clear anger in his eyes.
"...My apologies, Your Majesty. May I head inside first?"
Lemain, who still hadn't fully grasped what had just happened, merely nodded.
After showing his respects, Randel walked back to Chermil Palace with measured steps.
"Ah..."
Lemain, who knew that something about Randel had changed but didn't know what, let out an incomprehensible sound, his face at least showing he knew he had done something wrong.
Red rose petals scattered in the wind.
* * *
Calian, who had stood to look out the window, chuckled. He was holding the cat that had unexpectedly spent the day lounging in Franz's room—the one with the absurdly long name, 'I am Prince Calian's cat who likes Prince Franz more.'
Franz, who had been sitting quietly with his eyes closed on the opposite side of the long table, looked up at Calian.
"No, it's nothing. I just saw a blind squirrel find a nut."
If Franz had understood even this remark, Calian would have been startled yet again today, but fortunately, Franz merely furrowed his brow.
Calian sat back down, an amused smile still on his face.
"Brother Randel got angry because of His Majesty's clueless steps. But the next time they meet, it will probably be better than it is now. I suppose you could say a door His Majesty could never have opened on his own was just blown open by the wind."
Lemain had done something, Randel had gotten angry, and next time the two would likely have a slightly better conversation. Franz understood that much and let it go. He put a piece of food into his mouth—thinly sliced beef that had been layered, fried, and drizzled with a light raspberry sauce—while trying his best to ignore the faint aroma of bell peppers wafting from the meat.
With that, a truly elegant dinner between brothers commenced.
The usual white bread, grilled asparagus topped with mild cheese, chicken braised in tomato sauce, salad without onions, and so on. Calian, who devoured about four times the amount Franz ate, finished his meal slightly later.
Franz could only wonder how someone whose stomach was supposedly a mess could eat so incredibly well.
"In the end, you gained nothing and only ended up with more questions, didn't you?"
The dishes were cleared, and warm black tea was served.
After waiting for all the servants to leave, Calian shared everything about his conversations with Sispanian in the Siegfried territory and Heisia Palace. Franz offered this brief assessment in response, pointing out that Calian had ultimately gained nothing.
Taking a sip of the black tea, which carried a subtle fruity aroma, Calian looked at Franz.
"Sispanian is constrained in what she can say. That's why there isn't much she can tell me."
Calian smiled faintly and added, "But then again, one doesn't always have to speak to communicate. Well, she isn't human, though."
He recalled the stone wall Sispanian had been looking at.
The stone wall where the final carving was engraved.
"When she met me, she was staring intently at one particular spot. So after she left, I went to check it out."
The Great King of Secritia, cradling a dead knight.
For a brief moment, the image of the Great King had changed and then reverted. He had been standing, holding something in his hands.
"The carving had changed slightly. It looked as if he were holding something in his hands, like this."
As Calian spoke, he spread his arms slightly, gesturing as if cradling a round object. It was about the size of the ring that had been placed in the center of the stone chamber in Sispanian's room.
"Seeing that made me think. There's no way he turned back time during the final battle. So why did he fight that battle while possessing the Axis of Time? That's what I wondered."
Calian lowered his eyes as if contemplating further. After a brief pause, he continued.
"Sispanian said I must retrieve the Axis of Time. At first, I thought it meant I should use it to turn back time once more, or perhaps destroy it. But maybe that's not it."
He recalled the black stone inscribed with the same language.
The black stone that had made the stopped time of the rose touched by Randel's power flow once again.
If that stone was something made by humans, created to contain a power that mimicked something else... and if that "something else" was the Axis of Time...
"I thought that perhaps we could use it to counter the abnormal power 'they' use."
Perhaps the Axis of Time, which Sispanian said he must retrieve, contained another power that Calian could wield.
Calian spoke with a smile.