The Person Who Stays by Your Side in the Hardest Times #4
“...How did you know?”
“How did I know, you ask? What exactly are you inquiring about? How on earth did I notice that the great lord of Iredain was so impressed by a mere robber or thief that he kidnapped a priest under the cover of night?”
Emil grinned.
“Or how did I notice that the true identity of the lord’s beloved illegitimate daughter is actually the noble princess of Rosdea?”
His face was hidden beneath the sack, so the expression couldn’t be seen, but he infused every word with as much mockery as possible.
“Ah, Lord Alon. What exactly are you so curious about? I swear by the living God Himself—I will answer you with utmost sincerity.”
Somewhere in the darkness came the sound of metal sliding against metal.
Someone had drawn a sword.
If the intent had been to frighten him, it was a complete waste of effort.
If they truly meant to kill him, why go through the trouble of dragging him here while he slept, dumping him at Alon Ricgard’s feet, and covering his head with a sack?
“Thieves come at night, and robbers carry blades. It seems you are both, my lord. Sneaking in during the night and arriving armed.”
Emil gave an awkward shrug, wrists still bound.
“Galin, put that sword away. I came here to talk.”
Fortunately, Alon was not foolish enough to continue with pointless threats.
“You’re rather talkative today, priest.”
“The lazy are not given their daily bread, so while the eyes rest, the mouth must labor.”
“Is that so? Then I suppose I should put those eyes to work. I have no interest in listening to your grand oration.”
The moment the words left his mouth, the person beside him yanked the sack off Emil’s head.
His vision expanded at once, and the surroundings flooded in.
Emil lifted his head slightly and scanned the room.
A cave-like chamber. Stone walls. A windowless space. A dark corner. The ceiling was too low to be called a proper ceiling, the darkness too complete to be the sky.
The air carried the mingled scents of dampness and rotting straw, and rough rope bit into his wrists.
Drip. Drip. Drip. Water leaked from a crack in the ceiling, falling with the steady, mocking rhythm of a clock.
Before him stood Alon Ricgard, surrounded by several armed men.
“Is this an underground prison?”
“It is underground, but not a prison. Though it may become one soon enough.”
“I suspect a millstone around the neck and a plunge beneath the moat is more likely. Just as it was for every previous exclusive priest.”
“Smarter than you look.”
Alon nodded.
No one could seriously believe that those who had served as Leni’s exclusive priests had simply retired to their hometowns and lived happily ever after.
Priests might speak slowly, but the dead spoke even more slowly.
“Yet for someone who knows that, you’re remarkably calm. Are you fearless, or simply a fool?”
“I am certainly not without fear. I hold myself in far too high regard to ever stop worrying that even a single hair on my head might be damaged.”
Emil offered a relaxed smile.
“However, I possess enough wisdom to realize that if you, my lord, truly intended to kill me, you would have chosen a far simpler and more direct method than this cumbersome one.”
Alon narrowed his eyes.
“Then put that wisdom to use and answer me, priest. How exactly did you know?”
It was the same question as before.
Giving the same answer would only stoke his rage.
“As I see it, this question has two parts. I shall answer the simpler one first. Guessing Lady Leni’s true identity was not particularly difficult. It was your attitude, my lord.”
Though bound to the chair, Emil maintained an air of perfect ease as he continued.
“You treat an illegitimate girl as preciously as a daughter. That is possible. But to go so far as to conceal her curse, to kill priests, and devote such care to her? Doesn’t that strike you as rather strange?”
“Isn’t that quite the leap? Perhaps you simply underestimate paternal love.”
Alon countered.
Paternal love can freeze in hell.
Watching the man spout such nonsense with a straight face gave Emil a perfect measure of the great lord’s character.
“Ah, perhaps. It’s possible that the girl who is never invited to family meals and has never once received a warm glance from her father has actually been drowning in his abundant love all this time. Yes, of course, how could I have missed it?”
Emil kept grinning.
Alon’s brow furrowed.
“Very well. I admit I was careless. But the strange treatment the girl receives and the conclusion that she is a princess seem rather tenuously connected, wouldn’t you say?”
Alon pointed out the gap.
Emil nodded.
“Actually, they are not. Lord Alon. How shall I put this… do you understand what I’m saying, baldy? Something to that effect.”
Alon frowned at the words.
Not because of their meaning, but because he hadn’t understood them at all.
“What did you just say?”
“Precisely that. You don’t know either, do you, my lord?”
Alon’s face twisted in confusion.
Emil let out a soft laugh.
“What I just spoke was the Ancient Imperial Language. A tongue now known only to a handful of highly educated priests. Yet Lady Leni understood it perfectly.”
Alon’s expression hardened.
There. Starting to understand now?
“Is it not strange? What sort of life must one lead to have learned the Ancient Imperial Language? Unless, of course, one carries the blood of the Esterien royal family of Rosdea, who claim descent from the Ancient Empire.”
“...You are truly knowledgeable, priest.”
“You flatter me, my lord.”
Emil shrugged, but Alon Ricgard shook his head.
“But not particularly wise, it seems. Were I in your position, I would not have spoken those words. You have just given me one more reason not to let you live.”
It was not a threat. It was simply fact.
Alon had kept him alive only to learn why Emil remained unaffected by the curse.
Once that purpose was fulfilled, he would likely meet the same quiet end as the other priests—in some hidden place where even the rats and crows would refuse to touch him.
Therefore, only my tongue can save me now.
He could not allow himself to be overwhelmed.
Emil answered with perfect composure.
“Well, I see things rather differently. I believe there are compelling reasons why you must let me live, my lord.”
“Oh? And what might those be?”
Alon studied him closely, as though trying to pierce through any deception.
Being stared at so intently by a bald, middle-aged man was not a pleasant experience.
“Before I answer, allow me one question first. Lord Alon. Just how is this priest called Emil still perfectly fine after being struck by Lady Leni’s curse?”
Alon’s gaze wavered once more.
The expected reaction brought Emil a spark of satisfaction.
He chuckled softly.
“That was what you wanted to know, wasn’t it? The reason you had me kidnapped. Ah, and that answers the second question as well.”
Alon remained silent.
Emil was bound. Alon stood over him. His subordinates encircled them, weapons drawn.
Yet even so, it was clear.
In this moment, this place belonged to Emil.
“So here is the truth. I can—cure Lady Leni’s curse, my lord.”
Emil’s words fell like a heavy weight upon the room.
The moment he fell silent, a suffocating quiet descended.
Alon kept his lips pressed tightly together. Those around him watched their master’s reaction.
The silence stretched until it scraped against every nerve, then finally shattered.
“It’s a lie.”
Alon’s voice was ice-cold.
“There is no method to cure the curse. Your words are false. Galin, put the sack back on him.”
The man beside him immediately yanked the sack over Emil’s head once more, plunging him back into darkness.
Damn it. Did it fail?
Emil kept all agitation from his voice.
“My lord, you will regret this.”
“I doubt it. You’ll be the one regretting things. Galin, silence this priest and dispose of him—whether in the moat or elsewhere.”
Alon sounded utterly indifferent.
Oh God, is this really happening?
Dying in a place like this?
No. It couldn’t end this way. Alon Ricgard could not kill him. He must not.
Should I call for Pidea?
If he surrendered control of the body for even a moment…
No. That was absolutely not an option. But…
“Take him away.”
“Alon Ricgard!”
Emil’s shout tore through the chamber.
“Damn you, my lord! If you possess even a shred of sense, then verify it! After I’m dead, send your foolish subordinates to Leni’s room. I guarantee they will smell no stench whatsoever—and then you will regret killing me. You will have thrown away the only solution to the curse like an utter fool!”
At that moment, the unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn rang out.
It was Alon’s blade.
“...!”
In a fraction of a second, Emil’s ears caught the sound,
and then the sound of it swinging down.