A Place to Weep
Most of the supplies Count Roxen had brought were absolute necessities for survival—foodstuffs, daily essentials, and clothing. Yet, they weren't strictly limited to the bare minimum. There were cards and books to pass the idle hours, and even some snacks that Sirien would enjoy, though they couldn't compare to the delicacies of the castle. Thanks to this, the siblings forgot for a moment that they were to be confined here for three months, completely absorbed in hunting for treasures inside the crates.
As for me, I received a sword. It was a weapon of a familiar design. The blade was a dull, matte gray that refused to reflect any light. The guard and pommel were rugged and unadorned, looking as though the weapon existed solely to be sharp and sturdy, nothing more. While it didn't feel bad to hold, my body was still that of a twelve-year-old boy. To this small frame, the sword felt a bit too large and heavy.
This sword had belonged to my father, Count Bertus. It was his final keepsake. A sword left behind by a knight might sound deeply meaningful at first glance, but... well, I wasn't so sure. There was no law dictating that a father and son had to wield the exact same blade. Though my swordsmanship was something I had learned from him, our styles were fundamentally different.
As I sat there staring at the sword, I felt a strange gaze on me. It was Sirien. She had been about to happily dig into a sweet roll when she must have glanced my way. When our eyes met, the fork traveling toward her mouth froze mid-air.
"Do... do you want some?"
"No. I saw some meat in there earlier. Just call me when you're cooking that."
"Okay!"
It wasn't that I disliked sweets. But I knew that if I took a bite of that roll, I would earn Sirien's eternal, deep-seated resentment. The fact that she had offered to share it at all was already nothing short of a miracle. While Sirien preferred to share things like cookies, she was notoriously greedy when it came to cakes. Having gone days without tasting anything sweet, that sweet roll must have looked as precious as a royal cake to her eyes.
Am I making them uncomfortable? It felt as though the shadow of my father's death was casting a pall over their mood. I appreciated their consideration, but there was really no need for them to walk on eggshells around me. I was truly fine. Realizing that staying downstairs would only keep the atmosphere gloomy, I headed up to the second floor. Only after I lay down on the bed did the faint murmurs of the siblings' voices drift up to me. It sounded like pleasant white noise—almost like the gentle chirping of birds.
That old man... he wasn't a bad person. I didn't have many fond memories of him. Most of the time I spent with my father revolved around the sword. We studied theory, trained, and sparred endlessly. After our spars, we would gulp down water, cool our bodies with cold water, and head straight to the dining hall to inhale plates of meat. He was a good master. But whether he was a good parent, I couldn't say. He was such a taciturn man that we had never shared a deep conversation. Having been an orphan in my previous life, I had no standard of comparison either.
As I was lost in these thoughts, I heard footsteps. Tap, tap, tap, tap. A light, childish pitter-patter, yet ascending the wooden stairs with a steady, unhurried rhythm. That was Sirien. The young lady, with breadcrumbs still clinging to her cheek, unceremoniously climbed onto the bed and lay down right next to me. Facing each other, we were remarkably close.
"Rajen. Do you want some of this? I brought a few from downstairs."
"What is it?"
"Dried apples. Try one. It's delicious."
The young lady didn't seem to care much about my opinion. Her hand shoved the treat toward my mouth with stubborn insistence. Left with no choice, I opened my mouth and accepted what she offered. Naturally, it tasted like apple.
"You're not crying?"
"Did you come up here just to tease me?"
Ah, damn. I slipped up. My voice had come out sharper than intended. There was no reason to react like that. Why was I being so needlessly sensitive? I worried that I might have dampened her spirits, but Sirien only smiled. It was a bright, beautiful smile.
"No. I came because I thought you were going to cry."
"I'm not crying."
"Why?"
"Do I have to?"
"Hmm, I don't know about that."
Our eyes met. Directly. Her eyes were a vibrant, fresh shade of red. The original novel had described them as an ominous, blood-like crimson, a dangerous color, but that was utter nonsense. There was no way a more beautiful, smiling gaze existed in this world. If the author had seen her like this, they could never have described her that way.
"I was thinking... if my parents passed away, I would be so incredibly sad. If that day ever comes, I'm definitely going to cling to you and sob my eyes out. I might cry so much that I soak your entire shirt."
Sirien slid a little closer. A girl smaller than me wrapped her arms around my frame. With every breath she took, her chest pressed against mine, rising and falling, her heartbeat echoing softly between us. The child who usually clung to me and whined was now gently patting my back. I could hear her breathing—the air entering her lungs, the soft, slender exhalations. Her warm, delicate body heat reached me through her breath.
"When I cry like that, I want you to do this for me. I think it would be really nice if you held me like this and patted my back. So, for now, I'll do it for you first. You're my one and only knight, after all. I can do this for you as much as you need."
"..."
"It's okay to cry, and it's okay not to. I just want you to do whatever makes you feel better."
It was a strange thing. My calm emotions suddenly began to surge. It was because useless memories had abruptly resurfaced. Trivial things. Nothing grand. Like when our swords clashed. Whenever I mustered my strength to push back against his blade, he would look feign surprise, yet the corners of his mouth would twitch upward. The water we shared after training tasted sweeter than usual, and the cold water we used to wash off was incredibly refreshing. The meat in the dining hall had a uniquely rich, deep flavor. The realization that those ordinary moments were gone forever hit me. Drinking water alone, washing off alone, eating alone... it felt like everything would taste just a little bit flatter. Just a tiny bit.
Suddenly, I felt as if I were left entirely alone in this world. An uninvited loneliness choked the air from my lungs. My vision blurred, and my throat tightened. I couldn't seem to breathe properly. I knew I was physically inhaling and exhaling, yet a strange sensation of suffocation kept rising. It was agonizing. A terrible, suffocating pain held me fast like a swamp, refusing to let go.
What broke through to me was a gentle pat. The hand quietly stroking my back pulled me out of the mire. The reality I returned to was nothing grand. Just the inside of a cozy, worn-out cabin. When I finally came to my senses, my eyes felt hot and wet.
Ah. This is...
I was crying. I had wept in front of a girl smaller than myself. Despite possessing the memories of a modern adult, I had broken down before a child who was genuinely only twelve years old. I was mortified to death, yet somehow, my heart felt light. At the very least, I knew I wouldn't have to suffer through that pain again today.
I must have fallen asleep without realizing it. When I woke up, I was lying alone under the blanket. Looking outside, the sun was beginning to set, meaning I had slept for at least two or three hours. Sirien had long since slipped away, and the cozy murmur of voices drifted up from downstairs. I could easily picture her tucking me in before quietly slipping out of the room.
I was terrified of leaving the safety of the blanket. The memory of crying in front of Sirien rushed back, bringing a wave of belated embarrassment. For a proud son of Korea, this was an unbearable blow to my dignity. If Sirien used this as leverage to tease me, I might just draw my sword and run myself through on the spot. A knight's honor had to be preserved at all costs... Part of me wanted to hide under the covers forever, but I knew that wasn't an option. My feet felt like lead as I dragged myself out.
"Did you sleep well?"
"Oh, perfect timing. Come join us."
Fortunately, Sirien didn't tease me. Seeing her bright, smiling face as if nothing had happened put my mind at ease. By keeping her mouth shut, our kind and gentle young lady had truly saved my life.
"Are you playing Old Maid?"
"Yeah. The loser has to do a penalty."
"Really? What's the penalty?"
"Singing a song."
"Perfect. I'll make sure everyone sings until their throats are hoarse."
As I walked over, they quickly made room for me. We sat in a circle in the order of Therion, Hena, me, and Sirien. Since I had just joined, I took the deck and shuffled the cards. Once the hands were dealt, I scanned everyone's faces. Therion couldn't hide his mischievous grin. The corners of his mouth twitched upward before he consciously tried to suppress it. What an obvious guy. He was definitely holding the joker.
Hena was flusteredly shuffling through the cards in her hand. She didn't seem accustomed to card games at all, and her panic was written all over her face. It looked like she had been dealt a particularly terrible hand.
Finally, Sirien... she was a formidable opponent. In the novel, Sirien was depicted as ruthless, cold, and politically brilliant. A woman with a face as cold as a frozen winter, an abyss whose thoughts could never be read. While I didn't expect her to be exactly like that right now, I thought she might at least show a solid poker face, befitting a girl destined for psychological warfare and politics. And my prediction wasn't entirely wrong. It was just different from what I had imagined. She kept smiling brightly the entire time, making it impossible to guess what she was thinking. Was it because she had a good hand? No, that didn't seem to be the case. Sirien kept smiling brightly right up until the moment she came in dead last...