Chapter 223: The Sword (1)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 223: The Sword (1)
Naturally, no one would believe it—that the Third Prince, who was currently smiling with a bright, lovely face rarely seen these days, was the one who had shattered Gray's waist.
It was common knowledge that the path of the sword was not an easy one. Although Gray came from a family of knights, giving him an advantage in swordsmanship training, he too had suffered immensely to reach the rank of Sword Master. Yet, despite losing all that hard-earned power in an instant, he was so terrified of the Third Prince, Calian, that he couldn't even dream of seeking revenge.
Seeing Calian approach until he was right under his nose, without him sensing his entry, let alone his presence, Gray felt a brief moment of regret.
‘I should have listened when Silike warned me. Or I shouldn't have gone to Kairisis at all.’
Even as regret filled his mind, his body reacted instantly. He couldn't afford to have his barely mended waist shattered a second time.
Gray shot up like a frog landing on a hot blade, and the first thing he did was bow.
"I greet Prince Calian."
"Yes. It seems your waist has mended well. It doesn't look like it's creaking."
Receiving the fastest and most formal greeting he had ever gotten from a Brissen, Calian nodded in satisfaction.
"And you can bend it properly now. Healing magic has really improved lately."
With that, he added something that thoroughly grated on Gray's nerves.
It was a relief Gray hadn't touched a drop of alcohol last night. If he had fallen asleep drunk, he might have unconsciously leaked killing intent at those words, and his head would have rolled for it.
"Did you meet a priest of Tensil?"
"Yes, Prince. I met a man named Malcolm Chettish and received treatment."
Calian hadn't even asked for a name, yet valuable information was spilling out effortlessly.
"Malcolm Chettish."
Wasn't that the priest Calian had helped when he visited the Latran territory, now bestowed upon Alan? Calian was inwardly surprised, finally understanding the hidden story of how Gray’s shattered dantian remained broken while his fractured waist had healed so cleanly.
Pleased to have learned something new, Calian nodded, his expression softening as he spoke.
"However… you did something unnecessary."
A deep smile spread across his face, which had been as gentle as a spring breeze only a moment before.
"Since it's going to be broken again anyway."
With those lovely lips, he spoke again, uttering words that cast a massive storm over Gray’s life.
—I hear you called out one of my people to plot something cute.
Fortunately, Gray was a tiny bit smarter than Evan or Lennon. He successfully recalled Calian's first words upon his arrival, and his face twisted into an expression of extreme grievance. The sense of injustice was so strong that it actually calmed his frozen body and steadied his trembling voice.
"I did not call him out…"
"No excuses. I already know the situation."
"I… I think you might not know, but that mage actually…"
"I am quite curious what you could have possibly said to entice that gentle mage, who has known nothing but magic training his entire life."
Gentle?
Well, sure. In front of the Prince, he was probably a gentle, docile puppy. Gray didn't know if anyone could appear un-gentle in the Prince's eyes and remain alive, but he supposed the mage must be gentle. He was gentle, which was why Gray was still breathing with an intact waist.
Briefly recalling the hollow eyes of that "gentle" mage who had reduced a carriage to a pile of rags, Gray struggled to keep the disgust from his face as he spoke.
"Prince. Not long ago, that mage came to find me first. He came and…"
"But traveling such a long way has made me rather tired. Especially since I was busy with other matters last night."
…What other matters were you busy with?
Trying his best to maintain a positive mindset—hoping the Prince hadn't just buried someone—Gray carefully managed his expression. Seeing this, Calian smirked and spoke again.
"How rude of you to welcome an honored guest like this. Are you not even going to offer me a seat? For a Brissen, your manners are atrocious."
Rude?
Manners?
This is my bedroom. For an "honored guest" who barged in, stood beside my bed, and declared his intention to snap my waist in half again to talk about manners… that's a bit much.
Ah, yes, of course you must be tired. This is the sixth floor; climbing all the way up here must have been exhausting. I don't know how on earth you scaled the castle's outer wall, which was built with absolutely no footholds, but you must be tired indeed.
So, who did you bury last night?
Though he had so much he wanted to say and even more he was curious about, Gray couldn't utter a single word. He moved sluggishly. His waist ached and his heart felt cold, but those brilliant crimson eyes—which looked ready to ruthlessly crush his limbs if he didn't comply—kept his mouth shut. Instead, he pulled out a chair in front of the table.
As if the Margrave were his personal servant, and as if such treatment were only natural, Calian walked over and sat down. He tapped the table lightly.
"Sit."
In the end, Gray sat opposite Calian, completely forgetting he was wearing only a shirt over his trousers. Watching Gray's docile demeanor, Calian spoke.
"I came here debating whether to throw you out the window the moment we met or just trample you again. What you were trying to pull was that insolent."
Another dark cloud loomed over Gray's future.
Without giving him any chance to clear up the misunderstanding, Calian continued.
"But since my patience has grown a bit lately, I shall forgive you with a generous heart. However, if you pull something like this again, even I don't know what I might do."
And just like that, he scolded, forgave, and warned.
Ah.
What mature benevolence.
"Thank you, Prince."
Since Calian looked so incredibly proud of himself, Gray couldn't bring himself to protest the misunderstanding and simply thanked him with the utmost sincerity. He had been forgiven, after all. Feeling wronged for a moment was a million times better than having his waist broken again.
"Do you wish to ascend to the title of Marquis?"
The sudden question made Gray blink, failing to immediately comprehend.
If his butler had shown such a reaction, Gray would have showered him with insults, calling him stupid or brainless. But Calian, who wasn't one for such harsh language, simply waited a moment for Gray to process his words.
"Why do you ask?"
"Because you seem to desire it."
He had already discussed this with Arsen. Gray had made his ambition for the title clear to Arsen and had been steadily preparing to go to the capital. However, Evan, hand-in-hand with Franz, had brought Lennon back and completely wiped out any ground for Gray to stand on.
"Yes, Prince. I do not wish to spend my entire life merely guarding the border of Tensil. Of course, I am doing my best to protect this post, but…"
"It doesn't seem like you're doing a particularly good job. Didn't you turn a blind eye to Tensil's knights crossing the border?"
"Turn a blind eye? No, that is not true. That matter was because the King of Tensil and Prince Randel hid their identities…"
"You turned a blind eye. Didn't you? Even though you knew."
Gray quietly shut his mouth.
"You, who supported Brother Randel from the very beginning, turned a blind eye when Silike poisoned my mother. You turned a blind eye when Viscount Lennon Brissen procured poison for me and delivered it to Silike. You knew all about Viscount Brissen smuggling the sacred artifact to Brother Randel, yet you turned a blind eye. You turned a blind eye to Tensil's knights crossing the border disguised as priests. And also…"
Calian paused, staring directly into Gray's eyes.
"You turned a blind eye when you knew that Marquis Evan Brissen, angered by my mother's memorial ceremony, was planning to attack me."
With the eyes of a snake cornering its prey, he stared deep into the other man’s, which, like a terrified frog’s, could not look away.
"Am I wrong?"
So.
Do you have the brains to understand what I am saying?
*
—Should I, kind, Prince, scold, him?
Early in the morning, the day after returning from the forest with Calian.
Ignoring Relic, who was nodding at Hina with a face that was practically begging to be scolded, Franz replied.
"No, it's fine."
Calian always claimed their sparring was purely practice, with absolutely no personal feelings involved, but no one believed him.
The reason was simple. Whenever they sparred, Arsen was always poked in the Adam's apple, and Franz always had his throat slashed.
Meanwhile, Kyrie remained perfectly fine.
Thus, no one could possibly believe it was sparring devoid of personal feelings.
Hina, who would have undoubtedly carried out the scolding if asked, smiled brightly.
—I, healed, the wounds.
Last night, Calian had indeed taught Franz how to manipulate mana.
Of course, it would have been wonderful if one could immediately accumulate mana just by hearing an explanation. But if the world were that easy, the blue-haired mage in Wilhelm Hall wouldn't be able to maintain his pride so fiercely against royalty. If it were that simple, mages who could fight nimbly against knights would be everywhere, and in that case, Arsen would have had his life span cut short instead of his salary.
‘If you practice sensing and manipulating mana once a day, you will be able to convert that accumulated mana into aura once you embark on the path of the sword.’
Those words had felt as if they carried some unfamiliar significance. As if proving his intuition right, Calian had added a brief remark while looking at the dark, ink-colored sword he had gifted to Franz.
‘That sword is one you originally used.’
It was something Calian hadn't said when he first handed over the sword.
He hadn't explicitly said it was a sword his brother had originally used. Nor did he mention how aggrieved Franz had been for not being able to possess it back then. He didn't reveal whether the Franz of that time had embarked on the path of the sword, or what kind of person he had been. He didn't tell him any of those things.
‘So work harder. If you want to raise a cat.’
He had only let him know that he had used that aura-compatible sword in the past. It was to allow Franz to imagine its meaning for himself and gain more confidence in his own talent.
—This time, a bit, deeper, cut. Did you two, fight, again?
Of course.
He simply hadn't mentioned how aggrieved he had been. Whether Calian had become just a tiny bit more emotional due to the memory of that day—when he couldn't have what he wanted—was something only Calian himself would know.
"We didn't fight."
If they had truly fought, there was no way he would still be alive.
Franz gave only that brief reply. Hina, who did not know Calian's true identity, smiled once more, thinking they were simply brothers who bickered a lot, and sat down opposite him. She had to wait for Kyrie to escort her to Wilhelm Hall, so there was still some time.
Taking a bite of a biscuit topped with fresh strawberries and whipped cream—kept fresh with preservation magic—Hina looked at the ink-colored sword leaning against the wall and moved her hands.
—It's a cool, handsome, sword, that suits, the kind Prince, well. Just like, my brother, I think, it's a sword, that perfectly, suits, the kind Prince, too.
Because it was a solid fragment left behind after falling from a star and burning everything away.
Fearing that her reasoning might become another wound, Hina didn't explain, saying only that much. However, Franz, who usually agreed with Hina, shook his head this time.
"It suits my younger brother more than me."
Calian.
The radiant guardian of the stars.
For someone with a name like that, what other sword could possibly suit him better?