Chapter 376: There Is One More (5)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 376: There Is One More (5)
Wounds.
There are wounds that must be left alone to harden, like the countless calluses on Demirea's hands. And there are wounds that must be dug out and cleansed to heal, like the shards of glass embedded in Franz's arm.
The countless wounds covering Bern's body were a little different. They neither hardened nor healed. There was no one to tend to them—no one to decide whether they should be left alone or dug out. Consequently, he had merely wrapped the unhealed wounds tightly, forcing scars over them to keep the pus from seeping out while the insides were left to fester. They festered, unhealed, until the very moment of his death.
So he didn't really know. And Calian didn't really know, either.
How could he banish a scent his needlessly sharp memory would never let him forget? How on earth could he treat the wounds that multiplied, one by one, every time he caught a whiff of that scent?
Should he leave them be?
Or should he dig them out?
He didn't really know. He had never looked at his own wounds that closely before.
"You might lack a brain, but you have quick wits. I thought you understood why I spared you. That's why I tolerated wasting precious oxygen and left you alone. But now that your back is mended and you can walk, did you think you could run and fly?"
He simply tried not to just wrap and cover them—to prevent them from chafing, festering, and rotting. Sometimes leaving them alone, sometimes digging them out, he tended to them whether he knew how or not. Even if it wasn't the right way, he tended to them nonetheless.
He didn't know how to heal wounds, but he knew how painful those seemingly fine, festering spots truly were. He believed there was no need to create another person who carried something so painful that even a mere brush against it would hurt.
Yet, another wound had been inflicted. A man who had barely managed to take a few steps forward and feed himself rose-scented sugar confections had been dragged right back into Silike's grasp.
"To avoid me… you did this."
"It's… not like that."
So, would he be angry or not?
"If not, then tell me who it is."
"Who? What do you mean?"
"The one who just popped into your head. Tell me who it is."
Popped into his head?
No one came to mind. He didn't have the mental capacity for that.
Calian was using magic. Thanks to that, he could materialize mana into a sword. He wielded a power found nowhere else on the Sistera continent, infusing that sword with formless aura. But now, he had even infused Pier into it.
The radiating killing intent scrambled Gray’s mind, while Pier, contained within the sword, chilled his heart. He would have rather lost consciousness, but he couldn't even do that. Fearing that if he so much as tilted, the sword at his neck would truly sever it, he forced himself to stay conscious and stand perfectly straight. Afraid that speaking too loudly would slice his Adam's apple, he barely moved his lips to answer.
"I don't know what you are talking about."
"You don't understand what I'm saying? Is your head really that empty? How disappointing."
A man like him.
A man whose back ached just from Calian being nearby. A man who couldn't even meet his eyes due to an instinctive fear. A man who must have known Calian was inside Chermil Palace. A man who couldn't possibly be ignorant of the fact that sparing his life was an act of patience on Calian's part—for Franz's sake.
Unless he had gone mad, there was no way he would have let Silike's name cross his lips. This was on a completely different level from a simple greeting.
Either Gray had gone mad, or someone had ordered him to do it.
It was one of the two.
"The one who put that name in your mouth and made you bark. The one who promised to fill your empty head. I'm telling you to spit out who it is."
"First, the sword…"
"Answer first."
Since Franz has turned his back on Brissen to survive, and since Calian will never lay a hand on you, test Franz with a few choice words. Confirm his intentions, and then decide your next move. If Franz has indeed betrayed Brissen, hold tightly to Randel's hand.
There must have been a voice that coaxed him with such words.
Calian was certain of it.
So he asked, and Gray answered.
"There was… no one."
Liar.
The corner of Calian's smiling lips curled up slightly.
Skrrrk…!
A small, chilling sound echoed from behind his neck. It was the sound of the sword, already embedded in the corridor wall, sinking an inch deeper.
Though he had no idea how it was possible, the sword that had pierced his neck without leaving a single wound was moving. The moment the slightest mistake occurred in that movement, what happened to Calian—the one who made the mistake—would become a completely irrelevant matter to Gray.
Because the moment Calian slipped up, Gray would die, and Gray wouldn't be around to see what became of Calian afterward.
Instinctively, Gray's eyes scanned his surroundings.
But none of the royal knights approached. Silent magic had been cast, and Kyrie was blocking anyone from coming near.
The inner corridor of Chermil Palace was usually deserted. No one ever came here. Thus, only two people witnessed this situation: Calian, and Gray, who had been grabbed by Calian, dragged here in the blink of an eye, and pinned against the wall.
Catching Gray's darting gaze, Calian's lips parted slightly.
"Don't get your hopes up. No one is going to help you. Just as it has always been."
Yes, he knew. It was maddening. He was experiencing something so terrifying that he would rather be beaten again, yet there were no onlookers, and not a single scratch appeared on his body. A sword that pierced the neck without leaving a trace—who on earth would believe such a story? They would just ask what kind of ridiculous nightmare he’d had.
"If you're going to do something wicked, you should do it like me. Ensure that not a single person sees what you're doing in the middle of this vast royal palace. You have to be absolutely sure. That's how you keep from getting your life cut short when you run your mouth. Don't you think so?"
He had checked. There was definitely no one.
He hadn't even spoken loudly. Though he had lived a life where he never needed to swallow his words, he had still checked his surroundings and spoken in a quiet murmur. He had done so because he feared he might lose his temper and make a mistake, carefully venting his frustration at being ignored by the Crown Prince and the prince in succession. Yet, this prince had suddenly appeared out of nowhere.
It was unfair.
"Are you feeling wronged?"
"…No, Your Highness."
"If you feel wronged, take it out on the bastard who put you up to this, not me."
Yan had told him not to kill him.
He had listened to Yan's words obediently.
"Your father was the same. He didn't realize what he had done wrong until the moment he knelt at my feet and died. You are exactly the same. With your stiff neck, loose tongue, and empty head, you are no different. Watching your pathetic display—unable to recognize what is right in front of you, let alone your own faults—makes me feel as if I've met your dead father again. Even your sheer ignorance of the fact that living like this will lead to you dying by my hand is identical. You are the spitting image of your father."
Kyrie had told him not to seek revenge on his behalf.
But he simply ignored Kyrie's words.
He was too angry to listen.
"You resemble the very father you hate so much. I worry that your child might resemble you, who in turn resembles your father."
The slender, beautiful voice reached his ears endlessly. To ensure he wouldn't forget, to carve it deeply into his dull brain, the slowly spoken words pierced him one by one, leaving him nowhere to hide.
Having at least understood what words this was the price for, Gray did not get angry. Instead, with a bloodless face, he spoke again.
"I told you… there was no one."
"Is that your answer?"
Strength surged into Calian’s pale fingertips.
He was going to die.
He was going to die.
"Yes. It is, Prince Calian."
No, he wouldn't die.
Calian couldn't kill Gray right now. Therefore, there was no need to reveal the truth. There was no reason to ruin the grand plan by revealing so early that he had made contact with those who confidently promised to kill Alan and Calian.
He only now realized this obvious fact.
His blood had run cold at Calian's mockery.
"I don't know… a single thing."
"You still don't know?"
"Yes. My head is empty, you see. I haven't the slightest clue."
With the sword, which looked as if it were forged from condensed moonlight, still piercing his neck, Gray leaned against the wall of the deserted corridor and answered. Then, he stared at Calian. His eyes asked how Calian would respond now, wearing a look that practically begged to see the prince's face contorted with suppressed rage.
"Right… of course. That's how you should answer."
Calian…
"That's what makes it fun. For me."
…wore an extremely satisfied expression.
Shhhk.
A very faint sound followed.
It was the sound of the sword embedded in the corridor wall sliding back out by about an inch. The sensation of the blade passing through his neck vibrated directly along his nerves.
Calian's killing intent, which felt like having one's face shoved into black mud, vanished. But why?
"Since I said I would let you live in one piece, I must keep you alive. I am a man of my word, after all. Ah… except for my promise to spar with the Young Duchess. That one keeps getting delayed for some strange reason."
The chilling energy in his words vanished. Pier's presence disappeared as well. The sword, which had returned to its red hue before he knew it, was still embedded in his neck, but the sense of terror was gone. But why?
"So I must let you live. I have to keep you alive, at least. You."
But why were his arms trembling so much?
The words, spoken so casually without killing intent or Pier's pressure, were terrifying. The gaze, looking at him as if nothing had happened, was terrifying. The words, flowing like an ordinary conversation, were terrifying.
It was like standing before a hungry snake.
Because of that fear, Gray could not immediately comprehend. He failed to grasp the true meaning behind the words I must keep you alive.
"Sixty-four, and one. Do you happen to know what these numbers mean?"
Calian spoke again as he drew back the embedded sword.
"…That, too…"
"You wouldn't know. Since your head is empty."
Shhhk.
"Among the nobles taking your side, there are sixty-four who are at least somewhat notable. Melion, Segnis, Ibel, Helica, Berian, Jin, Terahan, Trivica, Bief, and who else… Ah, yes. Enensita. I've seen all of their faces at least once, so I know them. Sixty-four such counts."
The sword slid out another inch.
"I thought that if I eliminated them one by one, you would quiet down a bit. I thought that if I captured all of them and then captured you, my anger would be appeased. But I realized I had missed something."
He wasn't driving the sword in. He was clearly pulling it out. He was letting him live, bit by bit. Yet, Gray felt as if the very marrow of his bones was being ground away.
"…That there is one more."
Shhhk.
A tiny, faint sound.
"I wondered why on earth you didn't bring your son here. Why did you leave your child, whom you kept by your side in the Margrave's territory, in the Marquisate and come here alone? I pondered over it. If you were wary of your child coveting your position, just as your father was with you, you wouldn't have left him in the Marquisate. So I found it quite strange… That's what I thought."
A spine-chilling sound. The sound was so vivid he couldn't bear it.
"Could it be that you cherish him? Your child. Were you worried he might get hurt while you stayed in the capital when your power is unstable? Is that why you hid him away so securely in the Marquisate?"
Gray laughed.
"Are those words coming from the very person who just said I resemble my father?"
"You hid him because you cherish him. Am I wrong?"
"You are wrong."
"Liar."
Calian laughed.
"Instead of wondering who is helping you, I will let you live a little longer. But I will remember."
Shhhk.
"That… one person."
Shhhk, shhhk.
*
Needlen's dilemma began.
He had accidentally witnessed the Crown Prince picking the walnut pieces out of his salad. Should he tell him to just eat them, or should he pretend not to notice?
If he said he needed to eat nuts to grow strong, well, he was already eating the thinly sliced almonds just fine. To urge him to eat the walnuts too would be overstepping. If he said walnuts were good for the brain, the Crown Prince was smart enough to avoid them out of spite. If he tried to scare him by saying he wouldn't grow if he was a picky eater, he was already taller than Needlen. And if he threw all that aside and simply instructed him to eat a balanced diet—well, his opponent was the Crown Prince.
"Leave it."
"Pardon?"
"The walnuts."
"…Yes, Your Highness."
Needlen was surely the quickest wit in all of Sistera.
Of course, staring intently at the walnuts being picked out would make anyone notice. Needlen, who had quietly finished his own meal, flinched slightly and shut his mouth.
Soon, Franz's meal also came to an end. Relic entered right on cue, as if he had known, and cleared the dishes. Needlen, after helping him briefly, went to sit at Arsen's desk. He had to earn his keep, after all.
But Franz did not move. Even after the dishes were cleared, he remained seated at the table, legs crossed. Needlen wanted to ask why the Crown Prince wasn't earning his keep but couldn't bring himself to say it aloud, so he quietly watched him out of the corner of his eye.
Step.
Franz, who had been staring at the clock on the wall, finally rose from his seat. He then made his way toward the door.
"Are you leaving for the day, Vice-Commander?"
The question was loaded with the silent dread of, Is this a grand scheme to dump all the work on me and have both Vice-Commanders leave?
The answer came back. "No. Just going out for a bit."
"Ah, are you going for a post-meal stroll?"
"No."
Everything was a "no."
Lacking any talent for guessing, Needlen simply nodded. But for some reason, Franz offered a remarkably kind explanation.
"Because my younger brother should be done throwing his tantrum by now."
"Prince Calian is throwing a tantrum?"
If Calian was angry, his target would surely end up half-dead, crying, or actually dead. Needlen, about to offer a brief moment of silent condolence to whoever that unfortunate soul might be, looked up at Franz.
"Don't tell me… did Prince Calian meet Gray Brissen?"
"Yes."
It wasn't a mere guess; he spoke as if he had witnessed it with his own eyes.
In truth, it wasn't hard to be certain. On his way in, he had spotted one of Randel's loyal, sharp-eared knights walking toward Chermil Palace from the training ground.
The reason Gray Brissen had come to Chermil was surely Randel. But if Randel had already met Calian, he wouldn't want to see anyone else. And if Randel had personally come down to meet Calian, he must have had a compelling reason. After forcing himself to meet Calian—whom he should be avoiding—Randel was not the type of person to willingly face a Brissen as well. Thus, Randel would undoubtedly send Gray away.
And so, my younger brother would have gone to find Gray as he was leaving.
Even though he knew he had to endure it, he ultimately couldn't hold back.
"So you're going to stop him before he kills Gray Brissen."
"No. To feed him."
Franz turned around.
And with steady steps, he walked out the door.
He left behind the division commander, who was now desperately trying to replace the image of cat food that kept popping into his head with spinach soup, thanks to the Vice-Commander who had spoken as if he were simply going to feed Lucy and Anne.
*
My younger brother, who seems so unrefined but is actually quite delicate, had lost his temper again. Since he knew better than anyone that he shouldn't kill Gray Brissen, he would have threatened him into a rage and sent him back without a single scratch. But what other way was there to terrify Gray Brissen while leaving his body completely unharmed?
He must have turned into a snake again.
He must have used the same method that had turned Devlan into a ghost.
So it was obvious he would complain of feeling empty inside and hungry again. As the older brother who had somehow ended up being the cause of it all, I couldn't just stand by and watch. I would just feed him.
Stop.
That was his only thought as he headed toward Chermil Palace. But then, they crossed paths again.
"…I greet His Royal Highness the Crown Prince."
Whatever threat he had received, this time it was the exact opposite of before. All expression had vanished from Gray's face. It was hard to tell whether he was angry or terrified.
Still, it seemed he had learned something. Gray greeted Franz first. There was no respect, but it was formal. Satisfied with that, Franz gave a slight nod of acknowledgment and took a step forward as if to pass by.
No, he only took one step.
Standing beside Gray, both of them facing opposite directions, Franz spoke in a low voice.
"They say I failed to recognize my own bloodline. But it seems you failed to recognize when to lie low."
Gray's gaze shifted sideways. He stared at the profile of the Crown Prince, who stood still without looking at anything in particular.
"Unlike me. Just like a Brissen."
Words spoken with absolute certainty that Gray had met Calian. A voice so quiet and low that even Relic, standing behind them, couldn't hear it, reached Gray's ears with perfect clarity.
"What on earth does that…"
Step, step.
There was no reply.
As if it didn't matter whether Gray understood or not, Franz resumed his steps, which had paused for only a brief moment.
A bastard who always secured two gains from a single action. Franz had paused his steps to gain something on behalf of that younger brother, who this time had recklessly lost his temper and ended up hungry without gaining anything.
A green frog that had just escaped a snake and was fleeing in a hurry. He wanted to catch it and place it inside a pot that would slowly come to a boil. Pretending it was a warm sanctuary, a safe haven, a wonderful place where no one would attack. He wanted to hold and trap the frog that had fled from the snake.
Even Devlan had been fooled by the public persona Franz had carefully crafted over the years. There was no way Gray wouldn't fall for it.
"Where are you coming from, brother?"
"Wilhelm Pavilion."
"Last time, you said you stayed up all night on the day you returned. Not today, I see."
"Because I'm hungry."
"You haven't eaten?"
"I haven't."
Liar.
Calian didn't bother pointing out that he knew it was a lie. He just grinned. He laughed because it was amusing to see his brother, who still hadn't learned how to say Thank you for suffering in my stead, immediately trying to feed him. He laughed because it was amusing to see how his brother, who had been so drained, had suddenly regained his vitality.
"Then shall we eat together?"
"Sure."
"I'm going to eat a lot of meat. Do you have the time, brother?"
"As if I ever don't."
"Still. I feel exceptionally empty inside."
"I know."
"Okay."
"I'm going to eat beef and pork, not chicken."
"I know."
"Okay."
Franz glanced over his shoulder. His gaze lingered for a moment on the path Gray had taken before he turned away.
He wasn’t sure how much a frog was capable of thinking, but if it had any sense at all, it would come hopping back on its own. And if it didn’t, Franz could always just go out and catch it himself. Nothing to worry about.
It was just a frog, after all—prey he would eventually have to hunt down with his own two hands.
“Siegfried sent some mutton. Shall I have them bring that out too?”
“No.”
“…Alright.”
The frog was one thing, but he absolutely hated mutton.