Chapter 64
Chapter 64
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 64
Chapter Title: The Prince's Secret
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To protect Rachel, Enoch had hurriedly assumed a stance, kneeling on one knee. Yet to her, he felt like a solid bulwark.
He had always saved her life. She had never died when Enoch was by her side. Though she had regressed after her family died.
Seeing Enoch flustered by her tears, Rachel smiled.
She now had someone she could truly trust besides herself.
“Ra, Rachel?”
“I’m fine.”
She hadn’t been fine just a moment ago, but she was now.
“What are you?!”
Demian, however, standing before Enoch, did not seem fine. He appeared furious that Enoch was ignoring him and only checking on Rachel.
Enoch confirmed Rachel’s face—her tears had stopped, and she was smiling—before turning his head toward the voice.
His golden eyes, glaring at Demian, blazed fiercely. The emotion within them was clear: hostility.
Right now, Enoch saw Demian as an enemy.
“Who am I, you ask?”
His question echoed through the ballroom. The clear voice, laced with anger, struck everyone’s ears.
In that instant, light surged from the fork in Enoch’s hand. The light morphed into the shape of a sword and cleaved Demian’s blade.
Demian’s sword split apart, its tip clattering to the floor. With the sound of stone and metal colliding, Demian’s knees also hit the ground.
A frightened voice burst from Demian like a final act of defiance.
“What, what are you? Do you even know who I am?!”
To him, Enoch replied proudly.
“I am Rachel’s friend. And,”
His voice lowered as he uttered “and.”
“As long as I protect her, prince or not, you won’t lay a finger on Rachel.”
Enoch’s fist slammed into Demian’s stomach. Demian’s eyes rolled back as his body crumpled backward.
“It seems this gentleman has had too much to drink. Please take him away at once.”
Enoch called to the guards with a benevolent expression, as if nothing had happened.
They had stood idly by while Demian was causing a scene, but now they rushed over and carried the prince away.
The women, who had been smug relying on Demian, scattered in panic.
The watching nobles sighed in relief at Demian’s disappearance—the one who had threatened them with a weapon—but were at a loss on how to deal with the mysterious man who had laid hands on him.
Laying hands on royalty was a grave crime. If Demian had been conscious, it could have meant immediate execution.
That is, if Enoch were not royalty himself.
Rachel knew this but pretended ignorance and made a fuss.
“Enoch, thank you for helping me. But what about you? You touched the Third Prince’s body; you’ll face severe punishment.”
Seeing Rachel worry for him, Enoch sighed. He opened his mouth as if he had made a decision.
“Rachel, I have something to tell you. It’s not convenient here—may we move somewhere else?”
“Yes. I need a rest after that shock, too.”
As Rachel pressed against the floor to stand, Enoch scooped her up in a princess carry.
The crinoline, crushed when she pretended to fall, didn’t get in the way.
“Enoch, people are watching.”
“Escorting a weary lady is nothing to be ashamed of.”
He had grown bold. The Enoch who used to blush at even light jokes carried Rachel out of the hall without a hint of embarrassment.
They entered the farthest lounge room near the ballroom and immediately locked the door.
If it had been any other strange man, Rachel would have been on guard.
But since it was Enoch, she could trust him.
“So,”
Enoch sat Rachel on the sofa but trailed off. Rachel leisurely took in his troubled face.
All the more because she knew what he was about to reveal.
The youthful face, straddling boyhood and young manhood, openly displayed his distress.
Tension and anticipation tangled into words.
“The truth is, I am royalty.”
“I know.”
“I wasn’t trying to hide it or any—huh?”
Enoch, having revealed his identity, braced for her sense of betrayal and began an excuse.
But realizing what she had said, he looked stunned.
“I already knew.”
At her response, Enoch was at a loss for words. As he stood dazed, Rachel rose and brought her face close to his.
Caught off guard by her sudden approach, Enoch froze like a mouse before a snake.
If it had been anyone else, he would have dodged swiftly.
But since it was Rachel, he couldn’t, and her face stopped at his ear.
“Of course. The founding king, Manus, had silver hair. And golden eyes, too.”
He flinched at her ticklish whisper in his ear.
Her face soon pulled away, but his flushed face and ears showed no sign of paling.
“I may look like this, but I read a lot of books. They say that color only manifests in the royal family, right?”
She had learned it from Carion, but to spare his dignity, she boasted as if she’d deduced it from books. Enoch’s state was far from normal.
His face was red as a ripe persimmon.
“Since when…….”
He couldn’t finish his question. Enoch covered his face with both hands.
“I want to hide.”
“Why?”
“Because every time I tried to shut Abyss up, I can’t imagine what you were thinking.”
It seemed less about that and more a desire to kick off the covers over his own dark history.
Finding it adorable, Rachel giggled.
“I didn’t know back then.”
Enoch lowered his hands, peeking out with just his eyes.
“Really?”
“Yes. Abyss and I received titles, but you didn’t, so I thought about it and figured it out.”
“Then, what I said before still holds?”
“What? We’ve had so many conversations.”
“That we’re friends.”
His extreme tension blended with his looks to evoke a pure, endearing charm.
“Yes, we’re always friends!”
How could she say otherwise to such a sight? Rachel felt a surge of generosity, enough to let it slide even if Enoch claimed they were more than friends—boyfriend territory.
“Really?”
“Yes! Prince or not, I’m on your side, Enoch.”
Borrowing what he had said to Demian earlier, Rachel replied. Enoch hid his face in his hands again.
Rachel giggled that he was cute, while Enoch sulked not to tease him.
Having revealed his secret, Enoch seemed much more at ease.
‘Feeling betrayed by a hidden identity is the stuff of dramas.’
Enoch must have had his reasons. Rachel could understand, since she herself was hiding that she wasn’t the real deal.
If anything, now that he had opened up about his status, she felt closer to him than before.
***
“There were many my age at the temple, but I couldn’t get close to them.”
Enoch’s clear voice filled the room.
Rachel, changed into comfortable clothes, listened to his story while hugging her knees.
The Hero’s Reincarnation—the priests treated Enoch very specially.
The child with silver hair and golden eyes, symbols of the Hero, was taken from his mother’s arms at birth and raised in the temple.
The priests had great expectations of young Enoch, but those expectations were a burden to him.
“From childhood, I grew up hearing I was special. But I hated being special. I wanted to live like ordinary kids.”
He envied the children cared for by the temple. He wanted to mingle with them, but couldn’t approach because he was “special.”
“It must have been lonely.”
“Yes. But they seemed to want to raise me like a Hero from myth.”
From childhood, he had to wield a wooden sword. He couldn’t make friends; instead, he had to train in swordsmanship.
“At least I was born with divine power.”
Without much effort, he could wield immense divine power. The saying he was blessed by the gods was no lie.
“But not swordsmanship.”
That, he had earned through effort. Perhaps he had talent.
But even talent must be honed to shine.
“Yet everyone spoke as if my skill with the sword was natural because I was the Hero’s bloodline.”
The fruits of his labor were dismissed as “the Hero’s reincarnation” and taken for granted.
“Impressive skill for his age, but it was seen as expected.”
“They were too much.”
At Rachel’s agreement, Enoch smiled faintly.
Yes, they were too much. How much better did he have to be?
Enoch had tried. He swung the sword until his hands blistered.
But at some point, he stopped trying.
No peer could catch up to him. He was already the top swordsman in his age group.
“Fifteen, I think? That’s when my arrogant phase hit.”
“Arrogant Enoch? I can’t picture it.”
“I had a childhood, too. I threw down my sword and climbed over the temple walls. I even snuck out and bought street food.”
“You’re not claiming that was your rebellion, are you?”
Rachel’s eyes narrowed. But Enoch looked proud, as if it were a grand act of defiance.
“I ran up a tab using another priest’s name.”
“Not sure about arrogance, but rebellious, yes.”
Rachel laughed, imagining Enoch scaling the temple wall and buying street food on credit in the nearby village.
“So what happened?”
“The temple cracked down. They told the merchants not to extend credit to me.”
“And that was the end of your rebellion?”
“No. I hid in the forest near the grand temple instead of going back. My brothers searched for me, but I was sensitive to presences and evaded them well.”
“Impressive.”
Enoch’s cheeks flushed at Rachel’s praise.
She didn’t know it, but Enoch loved when she called him impressive.
On his first night dispatched to the mansion, when he ran into her in the hall and exchanged a few words, she had said he was impressive.
Her clapping, eyes sparkling as she looked up at him—it was a sight so novel to him.
The girl who nearly died countless times in the mansion full of curse mediums on the day he arrived.
Even tightrope-walking clowns weren’t as precarious as her.
So his gaze followed her. He had never seen someone whose walk looked so unsteady.
Like parents anxiously watching a baby’s first steps, he watched her.
At first, it was just that level of feeling.
“So what made you pull yourself together again?”
“Priestess Peace came to my hiding spot with an image orb.”
Magic had faded, but its remnants lingered. Items called artifacts. The image orb was a prime example.
“She told me not to get cocky, that someone even more skilled existed, and to see for myself. So I revealed myself then.”
And he saw the image orb Priestess Peace held out. She said it was only shown to a select few even in the temple. Inside it was the figure of a blonde girl.