Chapter 222: [Side Story] Sinasta
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 222: [Side Story] Sinasta
They say that in Secritia, they hold funerals with flowers, too.
A round, white flower by day, but when night falls, it becomes a star and flies away.
Isn't that fascinating, brother?
* * *
The flawless fell to poison; the pure succumbed to it.
It is cruel, harsh, and severe.
It is wicked, vicious, and unforgiving.
It is desolate. Barren and bleak. And so, in the end, I am alone. Having failed to protect a single thing, I am submerged in thoughts more isolating than hell itself, utterly alone.
"Franz."
Drowning in a scent more vicious than solitude, I am finally, truly, left alone.
"Franz. You must answer me. What are you thinking about so intently?"
It had been only a week since a prince of the kingdom had taken his own life.
A banquet was held to celebrate the Queen's well-being, her safe survival from the Third Prince's unspeakably wicked plot.
– We were almost too late. If you knew that child was learning magic, you should have told me.
Were they truly celebrating the Queen's well-being?
– Even if you blindfolded that child, why didn't you realize he could never escape the sight of mages?
Or were they celebrating that they had successfully prevented a prince who resembled Sispanian from gaining the backing of the Mage Association?
– We still have a long way to go, Franz.
You cannot bear to stand beneath anyone.
Yet the path to the top is too tedious and rugged for you to climb on your own.
At the end of those steps, where you strive to push me ahead in your stead…
Is there truly a place for me there?
If you were to ask, should I give you the honest answer? That you won't be there at the end, either?
– So you must always stay sharp. You cannot stop.
The smell of blood, woven through the pungent scent of Renieri perfume, was thick. Overpoweringly so. Though she had likely never taken a life with her own hands, how could she exude such a disgusting stench?
Did she even know?
Was that why she lived buried in a scent that grew heavier by the day?
"I'll be taking my leave," Franz said.
His fingertips stung from her perfume, a scent like salt rubbed into an open wound. Having touched none of the food, Franz spoke again.
"…Because of the stench."
Click. The sound of a folding fan snapping open echoed through the banquet hall.
Whether she was trying to mask his words or hide her own expression, Franz didn't bother to wonder. He simply stood.
Evan's face was as stiff as Silike's. Lennon, oblivious, quietly sniffed his own clothes, wondering if he was the one who smelled.
* * *
That flower… they say its name is Sinasta.
I don't like the flowers that drift down the river to the sea. I prefer the one that becomes a star and rises to the sky.
I like that flower, Sinasta, much better.
* * *
He had thought it looked like something that would swallow the darkness whole.
That darkness, which reflected nothing at all, did not please Franz.
So he had rejected it.
– But Your Highness, you will be surprised when you find out what this is.
– Get out.
If the utterly foolish Lennon had started by explaining what it was, Franz would never have rejected such an extraordinary gift.
If he had first explained why the dark, ink-colored metal reflected nothing—that it was a fragment of a star that fell from the sky, a stone like the ashes left after a star burns out—he would have welcomed it.
Then again, if he had, he never would have met that other man—the one who was truly out of his mind, unlike himself.
"Are you saying you will attend the auction yourself?"
In truth, many suspicions surrounded the death of the Third Prince.
No one called it murder, yet no one believed it was suicide.
Except for the Siegfrieds.
No one knew why the Siegfrieds, who had no connection to the Third Prince, were getting involved. Franz had only vague guesses, but even he didn't know the exact truth.
All that was known was that Siegfried had summoned an archmage, and through him, the Mage Association had begun to move. Unfortunately, because the country where that archmage resided was not Kairis, the Mage Association's investigation, lacking a clear direction, soon concluded without any significant results.
"Since when did you take up a hobby of choosing the hard way?"
"Shut your mouth."
It was only on the surface that there were no results.
Lemain had begun to move alongside Siegfried. Quietly, secretly. He was preparing a force of mages capable of swallowing Brissen whole.
Furthermore, under the pretext of preventing the remaining two princes from becoming agitated and shedding unnecessary blood, Lemain sent mages to Chermil Palace to monitor and guard them. On the condition that he would no longer ask how his youngest son died, he sent mages to protect both of his remaining sons.
Though Franz could picture the entire situation clearly, he kept his mouth shut.
"If you just wanted a stroll, you don't need to go to a place like that. What is a prince who can't even use Aura going to do with a sword made of meteoric iron?"
However, the blue-haired mage assigned to both monitor and guard him showed no intention of being quiet.
"I told you to shut your mouth, mage."
The meteoric iron Lennon Brissen had offered was now up for auction.
Evan already possessed a far older, superior sword, and Franz had refused to accept it as a gift. So, Lennon put it up for auction, spreading the word across the entire continent.
"It is dangerous for you to go out. Please demand that the Brissen Trading Company cancel the auction. If you do that—"
Because it was a fragment of a star.
For that one reason alone.
"I said… I'll do it myself."
He stubbornly insisted on obtaining it with his own hands.
"…Understood. I will make the preparations and escort you."
He believed he no longer felt any particular guilt toward that child, but still…
A fragment of a star.
Truly, for that one reason alone.
* * *
– Your Highness, your hair color is far too eye-catching. Do not take off your hood under any circumstances. It will be dangerous if assassins target you.
– I know.
He went to the auction house with a single blue-haired mage. And he obtained what he wanted.
One bidder clung on until the very end, but as a prince of Kairis, there was no reason for Franz to lose.
For the first and last time in his life, he had done something so reckless. At the time, Franz believed such recklessness would end there, so it was indeed his first and last.
Yes.
Back then, he had no idea that, as time passed, he would commit acts far more reckless than this.
"Your Highness, your hair color is far too eye-catching, so do not take off your hood under any circumstances. It will be dangerous if assassins target you."
Of course, he also hadn't expected to overhear the exact same words at the auction house.
"If they target me, I'll just kill them. It'll be a good chance to see the swordsmanship of those Kairis bastards anyway."
"Your Highness, please watch your language…"
"Don't push it. I'm already annoyed enough."
The hair color glimpsed beneath the hood was, quite literally, impossible to miss. Seeing it, Franz frowned slightly.
The Second Prince of Secritia.
Bern Secritia.
A sharp-edged madman of whom nothing but infamy was heard.
"I wanted it. The fragment of a star."
He met that man. Or rather, Franz was the only one who knew who he was, but it was a meeting all the same.
And then they simply passed each other by.
Franz thought that, too, would be the first and last time.
As days passed, that starlight-colored hair slowly faded from his memory. By the time he could no longer clearly recall it—
"Have you decided on a name?" the blue-haired mage asked.
In truth, the swordsmen of Kairis loved to name their swords.
This was largely due to the influence of Hatsuara, who had given his beautiful, sturdy sword—engraved with constellations—the pathetic name of 'My Scariest Fani in the World.'
"They say they will engrave the name of the sword if you let them know."
Of course, Franz, who had yet to name the black horse he had spent a year painstakingly training, had never once thought of naming a sword.
"…Sinasta."
Thus, it was an utterly uncharacteristic, purely impulsive act.
"Sinasta. I will pass that along. They also say they can forge one more sword from the remaining material. What would you like to do with the other one?"
"Send it to Siegfried."
He sent the remaining blade, for which he had no use, to the young Duchess of Siegfried. It carried a message: if they wanted revenge against the royal family, they should come in person.
He thought the young duchess, Demirea—said to be different from the Duke—might come seeking vengeance. He sent it with the understanding that if she came, he would gladly accept whatever followed.
Many days passed once more, turning into several years.
The light green eyes, which had still held a faint spark of life when he named the ink-colored sword, withered away day by day.
Though many things happened over the long passage of time, in the end, he failed to stop any of it.
* * *
When night falls, will that flower become a white star?
Or a blue star?
Or perhaps a red star?
* * *
A light green glass marble, cracked in every direction.
His eyes could no longer even perceive the stench emanating from his own hands—a stench worse than the blood of all who had perished.
The man whose eyes had come to match his lightless sword stood before the devastation he had ultimately wrought.
– Even if this is not a war waged for any single person, it is a one-sided invasion. If Your Highness does not forget that, I will go with you.
No matter how it was beautifully packaged, a tragedy was just a tragedy.
Buried under sins that could never be forgiven, even in a thousand lifetimes, the light green eyes that had plunged into the abyss looked up at the spire of the royal castle.
Had his gaze met the person standing up there? For a brief moment, he imagined it had. The lightless eyes closed, then opened again.
In the distance, the blue-haired mage delivered the final blow to the last knight who had held out until the very end.
Watching silently as the long, starlight-colored hair was submerged in a pool of blood, the Mad King took a step forward.
Thud, thud.
Stepping onto the soil of Secritia, now one giant grave, he walked forward.
And he stood before the one who had already stopped breathing.
He did not dwell on the brief memory of that day, but simply…
'I wanted it.'
…the thought from that day suddenly surfaced in a mind that did not know how to forget.
Inside the giant grave, he placed his own ink-colored sword upon the corpse of the knight whose eyes were now closed.
Since now, you…
And now, I…
Have no use for it anymore.
Though it was late, he would let him have it now.
To the prince who remained a knight to the very end, to the knight who had lost his blade, he gifted a sword.
Sinasta.
Yes.
A sword of such a name.
* * *
I hope it's red.
If a red star that resembles me flies up into the sky, I think I would be truly happy.
Even though you said you dislike red, brother.
Still, I hope the flower meant for me becomes a red star and flies away.
If that happens, I think…
I will be happy, wherever and however I am.