Chapter 192: My Sword (4)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 192: My Sword (4)
Lemain quietly took off his glasses, set them down, and looked up.
His eyes, usually as still and unreadable as a deep pool of water, swirled with a rare mix of emotions. It started with anger, shifted to irritation, then to sheer annoyance, and finally settled on a hint of regret.
To translate the look: anger at having to listen to such nonsense, irritation at being unable to refute it, annoyance at the prospect of dealing with this any longer, and regret for the years he’d spent as friends with such a man.
— To Kairis, a land that always awaits the spring, has come news that feels as though spring has truly arrived. How can I express in words this joy that overflows from my heart…
The letter was filled with overly flowery language.
It was a highly sophisticated rewrite of: ‘Send your third son, the one supposedly betrothed to my kid, over here immediately. I’m bored.’
Suleiman had been sending the exact same letter every single day, without changing a single syllable. He clearly intended to keep sending them until he received a reply.
Since the letter was from the kingdom’s sole duke, Lemain couldn’t bring himself to burn it, tear it, or even crumple it up to his heart's content. He folded it neatly, handed it to Chief Attendant Raul, and let out a deep sigh.
Sitting on a sofa some distance away, watching with all the excitement of a man spectating a duel between mages, Alan spoke up.
“You used someone else’s child, and now it seems you’ll have to send away your youngest prince.”
After speaking with the detached expression of a man calculating how far a fire on a distant shore might spread, he picked up a sugared apricot from the tart and ate it. Simmered gently with plenty of sugar, the apricot suited Alan’s palate perfectly.
In any case, Suleiman’s goal was likely not to actually take Calian as a son-in-law, but to needle Lemain for using Demirea’s name so freely. Whether or not he knew Lemain had already promised Demirea proper compensation, Suleiman was teasing him in his own way.
Even though Lemain knew it was a simple prank with no real malice, it was giving him a genuine headache. No matter how harmless the letters were, this was a matter between the royal family and the ducal house. Suleiman might get away with it, but Lemain could neither ignore the letters nor respond with utmost seriousness.
“Come to think of it, sending the prince might not be a bad idea.”
He meant sending Calian to Siegfried.
Just a moment ago, Alan had come in with a roster, proposing an expansion of the Valkan mages. While he was at it, he’d also requested a knighthood for one of Calian’s attendants.
Lemain himself had been the one to forge Kyrie's identity as ‘Kyrie Bern,’ a commoner from the Whitrin territory, since his and Hina's true origins couldn't be verified. Recalling this, Lemain had voiced his concern about the attendant’s trustworthiness, only for Alan to quip, “Don't worry, he takes better care of Calian than you do.” The remark had left Lemain feeling quite dejected.
And now, Alan was telling him to just send Calian to Siegfried. It was obviously a joke, but the already downcast Lemain felt a fresh wave of irritation.
“It seems this matter is nothing but an amusing spectacle to you, Count Manasil.”
Smiling faintly, Alan picked up his fork again. He ate a few more apricots from the tart and cleansed his palate with tea rich in the aroma of lime and mint.
“Since it’s amusing, of course I would take time out of my busy schedule to watch.”
When else would he get to see Lemain squirm under Suleiman’s thumb—all because the king had not only condoned the rumor of Calian and Demirea's betrothal but had made it a fait accompli for his own benefit?
Lemain sighed, wondering who on earth could shut that mouth—a mouth that never lost an argument, even while meticulously picking the apricots off a tart.
“Besides, if Prince Calian goes to Siegfried, shouldn’t I welcome it? The backyard of the Siegfried mansion would be several times more comfortable and safer than inheriting that paper chair Your Majesty sits on.”
He had once claimed he came to Kairis to make Calian the Crown Prince, yet now he was saying it didn’t matter. To top it off, he was suggesting they proceed with the political marriage.
Just a short while ago, Alan had been worried about what would happen after Calian was named Crown Prince, yet now he was telling him to send the boy away. His tone made it impossible to tell if he was joking.
Lemain sighed once more.
Seeing this, Alan picked up the last apricot from the now-bare tart and said, “Isn’t he the type to quiet down if you just send him a few bottles of alcohol? Don’t bother trying to apologize with a detailed explanation.”
Alan was finally offering proper advice.
He meant Lemain should send the alcohol without any other explanation, allowing Suleiman to interpret the meaning for himself.
In any case, a political marriage between the two was a near impossibility. Calian would never give up the position of Crown Prince to go to Siegfried, and Demirea would never abandon her title as Duchess just to play the role of Queen.
It was simply a suggestion to gloss over the matter and let each side reap their own benefits without officially confirming anything. After all, the parties involved had already agreed to handle it that way.
“Shouldn’t you maintain this relationship for now? That way, even if the nobles later realize Prince Calian has no real backing, they won’t be so quick to turn their backs on him.”
Lemain, who had been about to complain about why Demirea’s father had to be someone like Suleiman, shut his mouth. He could already imagine the sharp retort the never-wrong mage would deliver, so he simply nodded without another word.
* * *
Should he call it a dream? The past? Or perhaps the memories of another self who had lived somewhere else entirely…
Recalling things that were difficult to even name, Chase quietly opened his eyes. Bright sunlight leaked through the curtains he had drawn before sleeping.
Previously, he had been unable to sleep until dawn, barely managing to open his eyes late in the morning. But recently, things were different. His sleep had grown longer, his nights now filled with continuous dreams. He didn’t try to force himself awake; instead, he let the dreams play out, storing everything he saw in his memory.
Soon, Chase sat up, taking care not to make a sound. Then, in a soft whisper, he spoke.
“I dreamed of something unexpected.”
He had wanted to dream in more detail about what Calian had asked of him, but perhaps because the dream had been so long, a new, unexpected memory had surfaced alongside it.
After whispering too softly for anyone outside to hear, Chase turned his gaze toward the distant bedroom door.
Teilan Castrin.
Now Chase’s master and escort knight. And in the past, Bern’s master and Devlan’s escort knight—the strongest Sword Master on the continent.
Since Chase had instructed him never to be disturbed while asleep, Sir Teilan would remain on guard outside until he heard movement from within. That was why Chase had sat up so silently, hoping Teilan wouldn’t notice he was awake.
He didn’t want to show Teilan the deep confusion filling his purple eyes as he leaned against the headboard.
Once again, a soft whisper escaped his lips.
“Is it real, or is it just my imagination?”
It was something Chase occasionally questioned.
He wondered if the things he saw in his dreams were true events, or if his own imagination had somehow woven itself into them. Some things were too cruel to be truth, making him want to dismiss them as mere fantasy, while others were too beautiful to be anything but real.
Most of his dreams about Bern were like that—a mixture of memories too harsh to be real and others too wonderful to be fantasy. Every time he dreamt of Bern, he was torn, wishing some parts were fabrications and others were absolute truth.
But today was slightly different.
Though it wasn’t about Bern, he had dreamed of something that was cruel to believe, yet at the same time, brought a strange sense of relief.
Bern.
Unable to even make a sound, Chase merely mouthed the name before continuing his monologue.
“…It seems you weren’t the only one living with secrets.”
That there was something I never told you.
That there was a truth even I was unaware of until now.
Reflecting on the hidden story he had only just learned, Chase smiled silently.
Then, he turned his head and stared for a long time at the thin silver bracelet on his wrist. He thought he could smell coffee, and then mint. He also smelled something else—the heavy stench of the sea, or perhaps the metallic tang of something else entirely.
Feeling that if he remained submerged in the memory, he might sink into the deepest depths of the ocean just as he had in his dream and lose his breath, Chase let out a sharp exhale and called out, as if coughing up the words.
“Sir Castrin.”
Instantly, the door opened, and the tall Teilan entered the room. His response was so swift it was as if he had already known Chase was awake, despite his efforts to remain silent. Standing at the foot of the bed, Teilan examined Chase’s complexion for a moment before asking, his expression clouded with worry, “Did you have another nightmare?”
His face was filled with concern that the nightmares had returned after a period of relative peace.
Whenever Teilan used the word ‘nightmare,’ Chase had always corrected him, saying it was something else. Today, however, he offered no such explanation and simply stared into Teilan’s eyes for a long time.
He didn’t know how much time passed. Chase held Teilan’s gaze before speaking again in a low voice.
“Sir Castrin.”
He called his name once more.
“Yes, Your Royal Highness,” Teilan replied quietly, not pressing him.
Silence fell again.
Still sitting on the bed, his eyes clouded with confusion from the dream-like truth he had just learned, Chase asked, “Are you my sword? Or my father’s sword?”
Had Chase ever called Devlan ‘father’ before?
Setting aside the fleeting question, Teilan bowed his head. Then, with eyes that held none of the wavering in Chase’s, he gave his answer.
“In the past, I was His Majesty’s guard. Now, I am Your Royal Highness’s sword.”
He meant that while he had been a mere guard to Devlan, his role with Chase was different. Chase smiled faintly at Teilan’s honest words, acknowledging the knight’s conscious choice to shift his loyalty.
He didn’t smile out of doubt, wondering if he could trust a knight who had changed masters once. He smiled because the word ‘past,’ as Teilan had used it, sounded slightly different to him now.
“In the end, you were my sword in the past as well.”
Having said something Teilan couldn’t fully comprehend, Chase met his knight’s eyes and spoke.
“It seems we must stay here for one more day.”
At the suggestion of delaying their journey to Secritia, Teilan looked at Chase with a worried expression once more, clearly wanting to ask if the nightmare had been that severe.
Shaking his head as if to dismiss his concerns, Chase smiled faintly and said, “Because I plan to tell you a rather long story.”
An absurd truth.
A truth harder to believe than a lie.
A truth more hellish than hell itself—I’m going to tell you now.
So, this time, live as my sword, not Devlan’s. Please.
His words carried that unspoken plea.
* * *
In the end, brothers are bound to resemble each other.
Even though he had explicitly instructed them not to bring it out anymore, the overly considerate chef had once again served lamb mixed with bell peppers.
No matter how bad their relationship was, brothers were still brothers.
“You two are exactly the same.”
Looking at the only plate left completely untouched while all the other dishes were finished, Yan grumbled. To Yan, saying Calian and Franz were the same was an incredibly harsh remark. Of course, it wasn’t something an attendant should say, so Relic, standing nearby, turned pale. Yan, however, didn’t care. He was simply staring at Calian with a look that screamed, What on earth are you doing?
“I don’t care. I don’t even want to smell it.”
Having been scolded by Yan more than once, Calian brushed it off with a light reply and grinned at the person sitting opposite him. There sat the culprit, a light-green-haired young man sitting as still as a blade of grass, stroking a cat.
Not long after Yan and Relic left, Calian spoke.
“Sir Aprin’s knights arrived yesterday. Demirea has agreed to verify their trustworthiness on my behalf. As I mentioned, they will all join the Valkan before the end of August. Before that, I would like Kyrie to receive his knighthood and assist you, Older Brother. Would that be alright?”
There was no particular reason to object, and since Calian had already decided everything before asking, what could he say? Franz simply gave a light nod.
“The healer, too.”
After that single phrase, he stared at Calian.
Calian stared back for a long moment, then furrowed his brow slightly. Looking at that face which clearly said, I’m done talking, Calian was left speechless.
“Do you… have any intention of speaking in longer sentences?”
He was too brief. No matter how well Calian understood him, there were times Franz’s words were so short it was almost ridiculous.
“The healer of Tensil. I was asking if Hina needs one. She knows nothing.”
He meant that although their methods differed, healing was healing. Before the number of people needing treatment increased, why not summon the healer of Tensil and ask them to teach Hina a few things? Hina possessed healing powers but lacked the knowledge to apply them.
Calian recalled hearing that Veronica was studying herbs using the materials left behind by her father, Ronil. Come to think of it, Hina had no such resources. She didn’t even know how to properly wrap a bandage.
But why was his Hina—so incredibly kind, talented, and flawless—being referred to so casually as ‘Hina’ by Franz as well? After glaring at his brother for a moment with eyes that threatened to not let it slide if he uttered that precious name one more time, Calian spoke.
“Why don’t you go, Older Brother?”
“No.”
The request would have to go through Randel. At Calian’s suggestion that the one who brought it up should be the one to go, Franz immediately refused, froze like a blade of grass once more, and stared out the window.
Just as Calian let out a quiet sigh at the realization that he would have to visit Randel again—
—Prince Calian.
A welcome voice, bright as sunshine, echoed in his mind.
—I have remembered a bit more about the Axis of Time.
And just like that, she delivered a message that was both a gift and an apology.