Chapter 343: Surprisingly Clumsy (5)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 343: Surprisingly Clumsy (5)
Sometimes, it is quiet.
Sometimes, it is noisy.
Sometimes it feels excessively leisurely, yet at other times, it seems maddeningly rushed. Should one call this quiet, or should one call it noisy? Or if it is neither, should one simply say it flows?
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
Once you hear the sound of the passing second hand, it is hard to tune out. The more you try to ignore it, the more useless thoughts creep in. Because of this, it had been a long time since his eyes had stopped moving across the book he was reading.
The sound of the clock.
He had listened to that sound, which was quiet yet noisy, and his concentration had slipped before he even realized it.
Randel silently closed the book and turned his head. Outside the tightly shut window, it was dark as always. The spotless glass, rather than showing the scenery outside, reflected the room like a bright mirror. It showed the antique yet simple room, the large desk, and Randel sitting before it.
Clink.
The tiny sound of a teacup being lifted echoed briefly in the unadorned room. It was the first noise he had made since Den, the servant who had prepared the tea, had left.
It was just that quiet.
Chermil Palace, where one could usually hear footsteps, conversations, the rare meow of a cat, and occasionally someone's laughter, was now utterly desolate. The room had always been quiet, but now that the sounds from outside had vanished, it felt even more bleak.
So, Chermil was just like that clock.
Sometimes noisy, and sometimes quiet.
Clack.
A second noise rang out as he set the teacup down.
The scent of dried grapefruit seemed to unfurl from the sound, drifting through the air.
As if trying to trace the scent with his eyes, Randel looked away from his reflection in the window. His gaze wandered to the clock, the desk, the closed book, the teacup, and then to his fingers resting on the cup.
“I dislike grapefruit.”
Was it the scent that brought those red eyes to mind—eyes that had gone out of their way to state a fact he already knew? Or was it the sound of passing time?
His deep blue eyes moved once more.
He saw a black mother-of-pearl box, decorated with a single rose made of bright red ruby. It was a black box that had caught his eye while he was ordering all incoming gifts to be thrown away without a second glance. Its appearance, ostentatiously decorated to show exactly who had sent it, was clearly a birthday present from Calian.
The sender's intention was obviously to prevent him from simply discarding it, whether he opened it or not. So, Randel had told them to leave that one box. For about two months since then, it had sat unopened on the corner of his desk. Calian must have sent the gift knowing Randel would neither throw it away nor check it, so it wouldn't contain anything that would spoil.
Click.
Because of the clock's ticking he had suddenly heard, because his concentration had been broken by that sound, and because the scent of grapefruit had reminded him of his half-brother's crimson eyes…
Randel picked up the box and finally released the clasp on the lid.
The box itself was a priceless luxury, but there was no one in this palace as wealthy as Calian, and no one as indifferent to Calian's spending as Randel. Thus, though his touch in releasing the clasp was quiet, it was not cautious.
Snap.
The sound of the tightly closed lid opening echoed in the room.
Opening the box and pulling back the black silk covering the contents, Randel stared inside for a long while.
As expected, there was no card with a congratulatory message. Calian knew better than anyone that whether it was filled with sincerity or mere formality, it would end up in the trash can or the fireplace without ever being opened.
Instead, there were gardening shears of various sizes and functions.
They were made of rare golden mithril, worth ten times more than the already expensive silver mithril. He had taken a material that would be considered a waste even if used to forge a precious sword and had used it to make shears for pruning rose branches. The gold handles were beautifully engraved with ornate patterns and adorned with deep, dark sapphires. Anyone could see this was made with only Randel in mind. And as if worried Randel might not recognize it despite such exquisite craftsmanship, his name was neatly engraved on them.
It was impossible to even estimate their value. Of course, it wasn't a bribe. To call it a bribe, there was nothing Calian wanted that Randel could grant him. Therefore, even though an excessive amount of money had been spent, it was clearly a gift.
But was it a formal gift, where money was poured in to substitute for sincerity? Or was it a gift into which sincerity was poured, making it worthy of such an expense?
"Truly..."
He understood the meaning. Don't be bored. Waste your time pondering which of the two this is.
A message to prune the roses he loved so much, under the name R. S. Cyries.
A warning not to dwell on the 'Lu' that once stood in the middle of that name, but also not to forget what was taken away—lest he lose himself entirely and think of fleeing to another country. A command to remain in Kairis, now and forever.
"You do things in a way only you could."
Muttering quietly, Randel looked down at the dark sapphires that perfectly matched his own eyes, then looked away from the shears. He replaced the silk cover, closed the lid of the box, and pushed it back to its corner of the desk.
However, he left the clasp unfastened.
*
Arsen did not join them.
He had gracefully passed up a precious opportunity to shoot ice spears with a whoosh and steal prey from the Crown Prince, who had spiritedly picked up a bow, declaring he would hunt some meat for his younger brother.
This was because, as Serjein had vanished along with Adelia, the knocked-out Holy Knights of Tensil had fallen into their hands. Arsen had been sorely tempted to just quietly bury them somewhere out of sheer laziness and go disrupt Franz's hunt instead, but since this was Secritia, he couldn't do that.
So, he had contacted Chase, and a nearby margrave was scheduled to arrive soon to take custody of them. What happened next would be a matter for Secritia and Tensil to resolve between themselves. Once they handed over the knights and explained the general situation, Calian's group wouldn't need to worry about it.
In any case, leaving Arsen behind with the four Holy Knights tied up in a bundle, Calian and Franz headed into the forest.
"Are you going to tell His Majesty about letting Serjein into Kairis?"
"Why?"
"It seemed like you were trying to find out what she promised Adelia. You said you'd reconsider her entry into Kairis if she told you the terms of the deal."
"That's right."
"Then why haven't you made a decision?"
"Just because."
"Since we don't know when we'll meet her again, shouldn't you make up your mind?"
"Not yet."
"Alright. Think about it."
"I will."
The rustling of dry leaves from last winter and the fresh scent of new sprouts filled the air. Feeling winter and spring all at once, Franz spoke.
"I thought only my younger brother's knight had sharp ears."
"What do you mean?"
"You already heard it. What Serjein said."
"Ah… is it that obvious?"
"It is."
Calian chuckled softly and nodded.
"Not as much as Kyrie, of course. But once you can handle aura, your senses tend to improve."
Of course, it wasn't to Kyrie's level, but the hearing of an aura user was quite excellent. It was enough to hear the cry of a whale in the sea while standing on a cliff, or to overhear a conversation between two crown princes in the distance.
"Yes. I heard a decent amount. About what Serjein would do for Adelia if Adelia told her the location of the Mother Tree."
Franz let out a short sigh.
—Answer me, Serjein.
—You should be old enough to know that sometimes it's better not to know.
—You should also know by now that I dislike long explanations.
—I heard your healer recognized that stone. Do you know about it too?
—The black stone. Yes, I know.
—The material used to make it. She was curious, so I said I would tell her.
—How do you know that?
—Your Royal Highness. Because the real Serjein, the Crown Prince, knew.
—What is it, then?
—Time. The remaining time.
The conversation from just moments ago replayed vividly in his mind.
—Explain.
—Do you happen to know? Strangely enough, there were many large fires in Secritia, and never any survivors. But recently, the new King of Secritia made public the deaths of those who had died unjustly. About what happened to those who fell out of the late king's favor.
—...What about it?
—Knights learn how to smell blood. That distinct scent left behind when a life that could have lived longer is cut short. It is similar to that. He said that the stone is a fake sacred artifact made by gathering what was left behind when those lives were taken. The Crown Prince was attacked right after he discovered that much, and all the records he had gathered vanished.
Even though Calian couldn't possibly hear the conversation in his memory, Franz tried to push the thoughts away. As he had told Arsen, this wasn't something he wanted to share today.
—At first, he sent various gifts to keep the warriors of Zeon under him. Including the disguise tools I am currently using. Then, at some point, he began demanding healers from Tensil. It wouldn't have been difficult for Zeon to notice the late king's failing health. After that, Zeon seemed to have changed the terms of the deal, demanding that 'material' be handed over. Since the late king was already carrying out purges anyway, he had nothing to lose.
—Are you saying he tried to sell what came from the bodies of the dead in exchange for Tensil's healers?
—Exactly.
It meant that Devlan had gathered the materials for the black stones from the corpses left behind after the 'past' Bern or the 'present' Teilan had done the pruning, and handed them over to Zeon.
Even though he tried to delay thinking about it, his sharp mind faithfully retraced the conversation. And his disobedient younger brother had already gone ahead and listened in. If Adelia hadn't played that game, he would have told him by now. Still…
He had hoped Calian wouldn't have to know, at least for today.
"There was something I found completely baffling," Calian said, as if he knew exactly what Franz was thinking. "Why the highly suspicious Devlan handed Sir Castrin over to Brother Chase so easily. In the 'past,' he didn't do that. Even though we found out how Devlan contacted Zeon, we didn't know how he was connected to them. Now I know."
"He was too anxious to keep him close, yet couldn't trust him from afar… It's laughable, really, Devlan's standard of trust."
"He had a relationship of trust with Zeon, bound by secrets they both had to keep. He had no such thing with Sir Castrin."
"Yes."
Calian let out a mocking laugh.
"At first, he set fires to destroy any remaining evidence. Later, he must have set fires to hide what had vanished. Atop the remnants of death that I, and Sir Castrin, had created."
Franz, who had been walking quietly, spoke up.
"It has nothing to do with you."
Calian's steps paused for a moment, then silently resumed.
Perhaps it had nothing to do with Bern. In the past, Devlan had not held out against Chase for this long, so he might have set the fires purely to destroy evidence. Even if that wasn't the case, it might have had nothing to do with Bern. Because Bern hadn't known.
But even so, was there really no connection? Did the events of this timeline, caused by Bern's disappearance, have nothing to do with Bern?
Did that also have nothing to do with him?
Did the black stones and Bern truly have nothing to do with each other?
Because Bern was gone.
Such were his thoughts. That was why he hadn't been able to find any prey. The forest felt completely empty. Just as nothing had appeared in the place that showed his fears, this place, too, felt empty.
"I said, it has nothing to do with you."
"...Is that what you think?"
"I wonder why my younger brother, who is supposedly so good at spotting lies, always asks the same thing twice."
"Because I'm surprisingly clumsy. At feeling relieved."
Poke.
As Calian was inevitably indulging in foolish thoughts once more, something touched his back. He had been walking a step ahead, but he stopped and looked back. Franz, who had also stopped, was holding a long arrow and poking Calian's back with it.
"I'm not reassuring you that it doesn't matter because you disappeared. I'm saying it doesn't matter because it's simply none of your business."
As if it were obvious what his foolish younger brother had been thinking, Franz spoke in a low voice and slid the tip of the arrow diagonally down Calian's back, as if he already knew all about the scar on Calian's fair skin.
"Sometimes, instead of what should be there disappearing, things that shouldn't be there appear. That's just life."
Realizing his efforts to hide it had been in vain, Calian let out a dry laugh. It seemed his damn older brother's needlessly good memory had perfectly retained even a scar he had only glimpsed while they were fighting for their lives.
Well, of course. With a brain that could figure out that time had stopped, there was no way he would forget that. Anyway, a scar was a scar, but he really needed to find out whose loose lips had blabbed about him getting scarred in the first place.
Once he found out who it was, he'd seriously…
"Hina said so. That you'd probably have a scar."
Seriously, I have no idea how our Hina is so good at diagnosing things. I guess our Hina was worried about my fair back at some point. I also have no idea from where our Hina, who is so smart and sweet-hearted, fell.
Looking at his younger brother, who was grinning foolishly with a face far younger than his actual late-twenties age, Franz let out a deep sigh and notched an arrow to his bowstring.
The tautly drawn bowstring creaked as if it might snap. After holding it and staring ahead for a while, Franz released his grip.
Twang—!
The sound of the arrow leaving the string was followed by the frantic flapping of wings. Relying on nothing but the moonlight, he had successfully located and hit a wild chicken in the bushes.
Rustle.
Calian walked toward the sound.
Under his feet, the dry leaves from winter crunched and rustled. The sound of flapping wings continued.
"Since I didn't bring a bow, whatever you catch now shouldn't count toward our hunting bet. Don't try to sneak it in."
"...Fine."
"Rabbits are delicious too. Can't you catch one for me?"
"No."
"Then a wild boar at least."
"What about the chicken?"
"One isn't enough. I'm really hungry. I worked hard fighting earlier."
"Watch your tone."
"I'm hungry, brother."
Another long sigh escaped.
The sound of heavy thuds and light, rustling footsteps echoed.
In front of Arsen, who had finished handing over the Holy Knights to the margrave, a campfire crackled.
"I honestly can't tell if they're hunting a wild boar or raising one."
Well. Sometimes, companions who set out with you simply disappear.
That's just life.