Chapter 183: My People (5)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 183: My People (5)
A pure white beach in the dead of winter.
A voice like seafoam sinking into the sand.
A voice like the tide, flowing gently as if to embrace all things, only to surge forward and swallow everything the moment one looked away.
Quiet, yet tempestuous.
Generous, yet relentless.
“I…”
An elusive, hard-to-grasp voice.
“…believe I sent word for you to withdraw. Was I dreaming?”
At the sensation of the tide rising in a voice that had always been like a quiet forest, the spies—his birds, damp with morning dew—silently bowed their heads. The eyes looking down on them were hidden beneath a deep, white hood, but it was clear they held no mercy.
Looking down at the three spies kneeling before him, Chase continued.
“If it was a dream, I’ve had so many that sleep itself has become exhausting. And yet… did I dream again?”
The command not to pursue the mages. The command to return to Kairisis. He was certain he had given those orders, but had it all been a delusion?
The Yellow Robin bowed his head until his forehead nearly touched the ground.
“Otherwise, I cannot imagine you would disregard my words so lightly.”
Tell me you didn’t hear. Tell me you disobeyed my orders by mistake. Make an excuse. Any excuse.
The Yellow Robin knew all too well what Chase’s words truly meant.
Unable to give Chase the answer he wanted, the Yellow Robin replied in a low, heavy voice.
“I have no excuse, Your Highness.”
It was an admission. He had received Chase’s command and had chosen to ignore it. There was no excuse.
“I acted on my own authority. I am deeply sorry.”
“On your own authority…”
Confirmed that his command had been disobeyed, not dreamt, the lips beneath the white hood curved into a long arc.
“The birds I met in my dreams knew no such thing. How very strange.”
He was not smiling out of pleasure.
He smiled because a bitter, directionless resentment was welling up inside him.
“Since when did my birds start thinking for themselves?”
The remark was as cold and sharp as a blade.
His birds did not know that this short dagger was aimed not at them, but at Chase himself.
“I am truly sorry.”
So, the Yellow Robin apologized once more.
If only he would state his reasons. His actions were undoubtedly born of concern for Chase, yet he offered no explanation, choosing only to apologize.
Frustrated by this attitude, the faint smile on Chase’s lips vanished. His voice, as fleeting as the last traces of a wave sinking into sand, drifted down.
“Since coming here, I have done nothing but cast aside my expectations. Yet you make me abandon even the last I held for my own birds.”
The Yellow Robin could find no words to reply.
He knew nothing of the dreams Chase had dreamt, what had disillusioned him, or what expectations he had been forced to abandon. He could only keep his head bowed.
—Shhhring.
The cold, sharp sound of a blade being drawn rang in the Yellow Robin’s ears.
A pure white sword, so flawless it looked as if it had been crafted from fine porcelain.
The morning sun reflected faintly off the blade—forged from Pure White Steel, a material now considered impossible to obtain, and far too pristine to be used for taking lives.
“If you have any last words, speak. I will listen.”
Understanding this was Chase’s final judgment, the Yellow Robin closed his mouth and bowed his head even lower.
—When you return, tell him. Tell him you met me, and that I hoped he would stay his blade.
The Yellow Robin knew what Calian meant. Hadn’t the prince told him afterward to value his life more than information? It was undoubtedly a plea for clemency to Chase.
That was precisely why he could not say it.
“I have none, Your Highness.”
The Yellow Robin was neither a soldier nor a knight.
He was a bird operating in the shadows, in places many times more dangerous than any battlefield. He knew better than anyone the gravity of a spy disobeying orders. He could not beg for his life.
Chase looked down at the Yellow Robin, and at the other two spies kneeling silently beside him, for a long while.
A considerable silence stretched between them.
—Clack.
The soft sound of the drawn sword returning to its sheath echoed in the quiet.
Realizing the glinting blade had vanished, the Yellow Robin looked up at Chase with a bewildered expression.
“Return to the nest.”
The answer to his silent question came from behind him.
Standing silently was Sir Teilan, Chase’s escort knight and swordsmanship master.
“I will contact you when needed.”
It was, in essence, a declaration of mercy.
* * *
A few days ago, Alan had scolded Lemain.
It wasn’t just nagging; he’d received a thorough tongue-lashing. It was all because of the lavender tea he had served to Franz.
“There isn’t a father in this world who would poke at his own child’s wounds like you, Your Majesty. Do you still not understand why Prince Calian tore down that palace? A child is someone you cherish, someone you soothe so they don’t feel hurt or sorrow. Yet you took a boy who had just barely managed to stand on his own two feet and shook him to his core, thinking it was fine just because it came from a place of ‘concern’?”
Alan had then strictly warned him never to bring coffee near Calian, to clear away any flowers or scented items when dealing with Franz, and to not so much as brush past Randel’s roses. It was a lesson: if you wish to show concern for someone, you must first understand where they hurt.
“Don’t you dare make excuses about this being your first time as a father. Try to understand. If you do this again, I—a man who actually has experience raising a child—will take all three princes and head south.”
He had followed up with that terrifying threat.
Lemain, who already looked ready to dig his own grave and lie in it from shame, couldn’t utter a single word as a count stood before the king, threatening to kidnap all three princes at once.
In the end, Lemain decided to overlook Calian and Franz’s unauthorized outing. He also lifted Randel’s house arrest.
He had to agree with Alan’s assessment: whatever the princes had done, it was nothing compared to the king’s own blunder.
At any rate, thanks to those events, Calian was able to visit the forest again without any trouble. Unlike Chermil Palace, the air here was untainted by the scent of roses, perfectly pure and clear.
“The stars were lovely at night, but the wind is wonderful in the morning.”
Come to think of it, he had only ever visited this place at night.
Actually, having only been here twice before, it was a stretch to say he’d only visited at night, let alone call it a habit. In any case, this was Calian’s third time in the forest, and it was now early morning.
Fierce beasts that shunned Sispanian’s energy couldn’t live here, but birds still built their nests, and their various chirps—wary of a stranger’s visit—rang out beautifully.
—If the yellow bird delivers my words, please spare him. If he does not, I hope you will trust him.
Listening to the birdsong brought to mind the letter he had sent to Chase.
He also recalled his surprise when, on a whim, he had visited Knight Order Karen and found someone he knew all too well inside. Whether Chase had planted him as a spy simply to deliver news, the man was someone Bern had known very well in his past life. Chase had undoubtedly left him there, knowing Calian would recognize and make use of him if necessary.
Thus, Calian had sent a letter to the knight of Karen via a light green carrier pigeon. The letter explained that if the spy delivered Calian’s plea—spare this man—in person, Chase should grant it. But if he didn’t, Chase should consider him someone truly trustworthy.
After all, Chase was the only one—the absolute only one—who remembered the person who had once borne the name Bern. Even if this wasn’t the exact same Chase he had shared his past with, Calian did not doubt for a moment that he would grant his request.
“I have been coming here every day since then. It has always been a wonderful place, lacking nothing.”
A slightly delayed response came to Calian’s remark.
Kyrie had waited a moment before replying, sensing that Calian was lost in thought. Calian took a deep breath and spoke.
“I left it in quite a mess. Are you sure it was alright?”
He was referring to how he had torn up the forest during his duel with Alan. Though it looked fine on the surface, he had left the interior in shambles.
“Once I got used to it, I stopped noticing. It all feels like part of the forest now. Even Your Highness’s sword marks have come to look beautiful to me.”
Calian nodded, a faint smile on his face.
Kyrie seemed to have found a great deal of peace as well. Of course, Calian couldn’t be entirely sure, but he felt there would be no major issues.
When Kyrie’s blue-and-black eyes met his, there was no longer any confusion in them.
“I think it’s alright for me to see Hina now. May I?” Kyrie asked, his voice cautious but unhesitating, as if to reassure Calian. He seemed to have understood why Calian had intentionally kept Hina away.
Since that also meant Garm was no longer visible to him, Calian nodded. “By all means.”
Wanting a long walk, Calian had left Raven at the forest entrance. Kyrie’s horse, Iris, was there as well.
The two walked side by side in silence, their feet sinking into the soft earth. After a while, Kyrie spoke.
“There is something I wish to ask you, Prince Calian.”
“Go ahead.”
Despite receiving permission, Kyrie did not speak immediately. Calian waited patiently.
They passed through a deep path and arrived at a clearing filled with the sound of rushing water. There, Kyrie turned to face Calian, who stopped in his tracks. Kyrie’s quiet voice followed.
“I wondered… if I have the right.”
He finally asked the question that had been weighing on his mind.
Calian didn’t have to ask what kind of right he meant.
The right to once again hold the sword Calian had taken from him. The right to one day become Calian’s knight. The right to remain by Calian’s side. It was a question that encompassed all of these things.
Or perhaps, it was a question of whether he had the right to cut down another human being.
“Kyrie.”
“Yes, Prince Calian.”
Facing him, Calian raised his hand.
Then, he gently patted Kyrie’s head.
He remembered the day Kyrie had bowed his head upon entering Chase’s office, prompting Chase to give him a single gold coin. Even back then, Kyrie had been older, but Bern, finding his growth admirable, had patted his head just like this.
Now, he stroked Kyrie’s water-colored hair—even though Kyrie was older and taller than him—as if soothing a young child.
“What do you think was the last thing you showed me?” Calian asked in a calm voice, bringing up their final day. He was asking if Kyrie knew what he had shown Bern at the very end.
“My back.”
The answer came without a shred of hesitation.
—Pull yourself together. Do not… stop.
Kyrie was still the same.
Calian didn’t say whether the answer was right or wrong. He merely wore a gentle smile that didn’t quite suit his current youthful face.
“I believe that is also the answer to your question.”
Knowing Kyrie’s heart, how could he speak of qualifications?
“I am only grateful.”
A country where the king’s mother, knights, mages, and vassals had all gone mad.
A king who, by remaining the sole sane soul among them, had been driven mad by his isolation.
It was impossible to know what he had decided, what he had resolved, what he had been thinking when he drew his sword, or why he had sent the hawk flying.
It was still a mystery why so many had to die, and he had no idea why Bern had returned. But still.
Still.
“Since I have found you again like this.”
He had regained the only person who would stand in front of him—in front of the Calian who had to show his back to everyone else—and shield him.
“It is something to be grateful for.”
With that, Calian held out the dark-colored sword.
Confident that he would never take it back. Vowing that he would never let Kyrie go before him again.
Promising that this time, he would repay the debt.
Kyrie.