Chapter 186
Chapter 186
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 186
Chapter Title: 58. The Ash Mark Reignites as Flame (2)
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"I'm sorry."
The prince of Dotrin faced the two men, utterly at a loss.
"I'm truly sorry."
As if every calamity had befallen because of him, he bowed his head deeply and kept apologizing over and over.
The king opened his mouth.
His parched lips twitched several times before hardening again.
The king parted his lips once more.
But no sound came out this time either.
Again and again, the king silently mouthed words without a voice, as if he had forgotten how to speak.
"Your Majesty."
Unable to bear it any longer, the captain of the Royal Knight Order called out to the king with a face full of anguish.
The king did not respond.
"Your Majesty!"
The old knight called out to him, his face drained of color.
Only then did the king make a sound.
"I am simply grateful for the prince of Dotrin's efforts in coming here through this foul weather to deliver the news."
His voice was so dry, as if every drop of moisture had been wrung from his body, that it squeezed the hearts of all who heard it.
"In this weather, even a flying dragon couldn't take to the skies again. We'll prepare a place for you to rest, so the prince of Dotrin should recover from his fatigue as much as he needs. It's a wartime fortress, so your mind won't be at ease, but on a day like this, even the enemy will be busy with winter preparations. Put aside your worries."
The king issued his instructions in that withered voice.
"It looks like the snow will pick up even more. You all must inspect once again to ensure the fortress supplies don't get soaked or frozen."
"Your Majesty."
"They say snow days are less cold, but that doesn't seem to be the case. It's especially bitter today. The hardships of the soldiers on the walls must be beyond words. Release some of the stockpiled supplies so they can warm themselves."
Just moments ago, the king had seemed to have forgotten how to speak, staying silent for so long, but now he rattled off orders without pause.
"Lighting fires atop the walls wouldn't be a bad idea either..."
"Your Majesty!"
The captain of the Royal Knight Order raised his voice impertinently, cutting off the king.
"Leave the matters of the fortress to us, and retire to your chambers for today."
At the old knight's words, the king opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it.
The king turned his body.
But he did not take a step. He stood there rigidly with his back turned, motionless for ages.
Only after a long while did he ask.
"Did you... find her body?"
He was asking what had become of the queen's remains.
"We have not yet found it, Your Majesty."
At that answer, the king looked up at the sky.
Perhaps because of the snow piling on his head and shoulders, the king's silhouette looked especially frail and blurred.
"Once more, I thank the prince of Dotrin for his tireless efforts traveling such great distances to bring us news, and I hope your stay here is free of discomfort."
With those sunken words of appreciation, the king vanished as he was. The prince of Dotrin, who had lingered a moment longer, also fled the scene like he was escaping.
All that remained were the First Prince and his knights.
Arwen could not tear her eyes away from her lord for even a moment.
The prince was so eerily calm upon hearing of his mother's death that it was hard to believe.
Which only made him seem even less normal.
"Your Highness."
Arwen called to the prince in a deeply subdued voice.
"Eh? Oh."
The prince jolted, his shoulders trembling as he replied.
"The wind is biting. Please, come inside."
"Right. I should."
There was something dazed about the prince's response, his eyes wandering without focus.
She had seen the prince like this before.
Back when he had barely regained consciousness after sustaining near-fatal wounds in the battle against the Warlord.
He looked exactly like he had then.
Her heart ached so terribly at the sight that she couldn't even offer words of comfort, when the tactless young heir of the Ilai family blurted out.
"Um, excuse me. Are you all right?"
"What do you mean?"
When the prince asked back, Bernard Ilai hesitated, unable to bring himself to mention the queen's death again.
"Y-You don't have to pretend to be so calm in front of us."
That was the best he could come up with, so absurd that even the listener could only feel secondhand embarrassment.
If Arwen hadn't known it came from genuine concern for the prince, she would have shut the clueless man's mouth on the spot.
In the most violent way possible.
"Young Lord Ilai."
"Lady Arwen?"
"Shut your mouth."
But since she understood why the Ilai heir had spoken up, however clumsily, she merely advised him to stay silent.
At her sharp tone, Bernard Ilai flinched and clamped his hand over his mouth.
"What's with everyone? Why are you all looking at me like that?"
The prince said in a forced cheerful tone.
"I'm fine. Really, it doesn't bother me at all."
Without even realizing what his own expression looked like. Or how his voice sounded to others.
Tears were already welling up in the sensitive Adelia Bayern's eyes, and even the oblivious Bernard Ilai stood pale-faced, biting his lip.
The other knights, too, set aside their fury toward the Empire for the moment and gazed at the prince with pity.
"I said I'm really fine."
The prince repeated.
He seemed to truly believe it, not just saying it to deceive. That made it all the more heartbreaking, leaving Arwen feeling suffocated.
To her, the prince right now looked like a child who had committed a grave wrong.
Fidgeting restlessly because he hadn't received the punishment he deserved.
Just like back then, when he had tormented himself alone, blaming himself even for his uncle's death.
"Ah, seriously. I said I'm fine, but you all..."
The prince snapped in frustration.
"Stop looking at me like that!"
He huffed for a moment before turning and stalking off ahead alone. Adelia Bayern hurried after him with quick steps.
Arwen let out a small sigh.
Then she followed in the direction the prince had gone.
* * *
When he first came to his senses, the queen had been nothing but an annoyance to him.
It was uncomfortable beyond words how she gazed at him with such sincere affection, oblivious that some stranger had taken over her son's body.
It grated on him so much that he made every excuse to avoid her.
If he could, he wished never to cross paths with her.
And when he inevitably had to face her, he spent the whole time scheming how to escape.
"Why won't you look your mother in the eye?"
"He doesn't even call me 'Mother' anymore."
The queen must have sensed his feelings, showing hurt or sorrow on her face at times.
Yet she kept seeking him out steadily.
She would even pretend to be asleep with her eyes closed, pathetically enough. Then she would sit silently by his bedside for a long while before leaving, fiddling only with his hand as if it were something precious.
After she left, he would sit there blankly for ages.
The warmth lingering on the back of his hand, his palm, his fingers—it nagged at him relentlessly.
It was an emotion he had never felt before, but he knew what it was.
The boundless love and unconditional warmth she showed weren't for him.
They were maternal affection for her real son, the original owner of this body.
Knowing that made her all the more uncomfortable.
Her love and affection reminded him of his sin in usurping someone else's body.
It was different from the king or the others.
They expected things from him.
He had foolishly thought fulfilling those expectations was enough.
Since they had never liked the original owner anyway, he believed the praise and emotions they directed at his accomplishments were truly his.
But the queen was different. She expected nothing from him.
And she was the only one who loved the original owner of this despised body.
He had no idea how to repay that unconditional love.
As time passed, those feelings didn't shrink—they only grew, until eventually, just hearing her voice made his chest tighten.
That was what the queen had been to him: an uncomfortable, prickly presence.
So he had thought her death wouldn't stir much in him. He might even feel relieved, coldly enough.
But he was wrong.
"However, among those who escaped safely, it has been confirmed that your kingdom's queen was not included."
The moment he heard Doris's words, his heart plummeted.
"To repeat: Your kingdom's queen drew the enemy's attention with her resistance until the end, and in her final moments, threw herself from the walls."
Something inexplicable welled up from deep inside him.
It wasn't grief.
It was too late for him to grieve her death now; their emotional exchanges in life had been too few.
Their relationship had always been one-sided, with her giving and him receiving.
It was different from his uncle's death.
Back then, he had clearly understood his own emotions.
But not now.
He couldn't even comprehend his own heart.
He was just confused.
That must have been why.
Why he couldn't bear the way Arwen and the others looked at him with pity.
Their gazes felt like accusations.
As if they were pointing fingers at him for not grieving his mother's death, or condemning his audacity in possessing another's body.
Of course, he knew.
That those feelings were merely his inferiority complex talking.
But knowing didn't help him control his heart.
In the end, he snapped in anger and fled the scene like a coward.
It was childish behavior unbecoming of someone with centuries of swordsmanship and a master's mind.
His chest felt suffocatingly tight.
Not knowing what this lump in his gut was only made the frustration worse.
He gripped his sword.
Maybe swinging it wildly would ease the pressure. Ignoring those who tried to stop him due to the harsh weather, he headed to the fortress's open yard.
He inhaled the sharply chilled air deeply.
No matter how much cold air he breathed in, the tightness inside wouldn't relent.
He swung the sword madly.
He recited verses as he swung until every drop of mana in his body was spent.
Then, exhausted, he collapsed to the ground.
The suffocation remained unchanged.
Sitting there dazed, staring blankly at the sky, someone draped a fur cloak over his shoulders.
"Your body is like ice. Please stop and get up."
It was Arwen's voice.
He turned his head to see Adelia, eyes brimming with tears, and Arwen with a stern face.
Apparently, Adelia had fetched Arwen because she couldn't stand watching him rampage like a madman in the blizzard.
He glanced at them briefly, then turned away again.
"Your Highness."
When he didn't rise, she forcibly pulled him to his feet.
And dragged him along.
He...
"Ah."
Let out a foolish, dazed sound and followed where she led.
When he came to, he was in bed, wearing completely dry clothes.
He felt chills.
This swordmaster's body wouldn't catch a cold from a bit of snow.
Yet it trembled uncontrollably.
He clutched the blanket and curled up.
He suffered through the night.
In his delirium, he heard someone's voice.
Anger and sorrow don't need reasons.
Cry if you're sad, rage if you're angry.
From now on, they would do the same.
He tried to ask who it was, but his lips wouldn't move.
All that escaped through his clenched teeth were groans.
And when the next day came, he rose from bed fully recovered.
The raging fever and the chest-crushing frustration had vanished like a lie.
"Your Highness!"
Adelia, who had stayed by his side all night and looked haggard, threw herself into his arms with teary eyes.
A step away, Arwen watched him with an equally weary face.
"Sorry to worry you needlessly."
"As long as Your Highness has recovered now, that's all that matters."
Arwen replied with a face full of relief.
"But did someone come by last night?"
As he stroked Adelia's head while she sobbed pitifully, Arwen nodded.
"His Majesty visited during the night."
"His Majesty did?"
"He didn't stay long, but while he was here, he personally tended to Your Highness."
"His Majesty changed the cold cloths himself and wiped Your Highness's sweat."
Adelia added in her sniffling voice to Arwen's words.
Hearing that, he couldn't help but frown unwittingly.
Aside from the king's grief over losing his lifelong companion, what stuck with him was the voice he'd heard in his delirium.
"I'll go see His Majesty."
He sought out the king right away.
The king, whom he'd expected to shut himself away in mourning, was not in his chambers but in the fortress's meeting hall.
"You look fully recovered."
The king's hair had turned completely white, but his eyes gleamed sharper than ever.
"When the blizzard clears, I will be leaving the fortress for a time. In my absence, Prince, do your utmost to defend it."
His voice was the same.
"Leaving the fortress? What do you mean?"
He frowned at the sudden declaration, but the king replied matter-of-factly.
"What we receive, we must return in kind, mustn't we?"