Death's Blessing
In the end, the Blood Awakening Ceremony itself concluded without any particular incident.
"……."
Bilheim glared at me right up to the final moment, but I poured every ounce of my will into dodging that stare.
So—what talent had I awakened?
"Wait a moment. I prepared a bloodline compendium just in case."
According to what Father looked up, the talent I had awakened was as follows.
"Hmm. It is called Death's Blessing."
"Death's Blessing?"
"Yes. A necromancy talent. It seems you inherited it from your mother's side of the bloodline."
That was news to me.
Mother's side?
"You mean……."
"Ah, have you never heard? Your mother, Viola, was a necromancer. But to think she was a bloodline holder as well. This is…… well, we can speak of it again when the chance arises."
I was stunned.
Mother had been a necromancer.
She never said a word about that.
At any rate, once the gathering broke up and I returned to my room, I immediately began packing my things.
"Run. Running is the only way to live."
What? A brilliant talent?
I didn't need any of that.
While living in Falaon, I had occasionally caught glimpses of Bilheim's training, and that guy was not human.
Once, he picked up a log the size of a man's torso and……
—Crack, rrrrip!
Tore it apart with his bare hands.
He didn't split it.
He literally grabbed a freshly felled, still-sap-wet log and ripped it in two with his hands.
Which raised a question.
My body or a log—which is tougher?
The answer needed no saying.
"Still…… the situation isn't entirely the worst."
Why were nobles nobles?
Simply because they chose their parents well?
That was true enough.
But what I meant was this: in a world of swords and magic, how had "nobles" managed to endure without becoming the targets of revolution?
The reason, of course, was bloodline talent.
The moment a bloodline talent awakened, a noble became a true "noble."
In other words……
Physical remolding.
Regardless of the talent's type, every domain—bones, muscle, the nervous system—underwent transformation.
Muscles grew tougher. Bones grew harder.
Reaction speed, likewise.
And the degree of that physical remolding scaled with the magnitude of the talent……
"……."
I drew the ornamental sword hanging on my bedroom wall.
Why something like that needed to be in a room, I had no idea, but anyway.
Being decorative, the blade was blunt. I gripped the blade in one hand and the hilt in the other.
And then.
Creeeak……!
I applied force, and the sword slowly began to bend.
"Hah—huff."
It was only a little—just a little—but it was something I could not have done yesterday. Not the kind of strength a fifteen-year-old who had never exercised a day in his life should be able to produce.
With this, at least I won't get beaten to death wherever I go.
Of course, I had not the slightest intention of fighting bandits or monsters with heroic valor.
I was going to run.
My two legs would have gotten that much faster, too.
I gathered the silver candlesticks and whatever else in the room looked like it might fetch a price, then waited with a trembling heart for night to fall.
I skipped dinner.
And so, after the sun set and midnight had passed—
"Father, this unworthy son takes his leave."
I stepped out of my room.
I had nearly reached the side gate leading out of the lord's castle when I ran into someone.
"……."
"……."
What was this?
A man who flinched and froze the moment he saw me.
For a second I thought it was Bilheim, but no.
If it were Bilheim, there would be no reason to wear a mask.
Then a petty thief?
That was as far as the thought got.
"I hold no grudge."
"Wha—?"
The man suddenly lunged at me.
In his hand was a razor-sharp dagger.
This bastard—an assassin Bilheim had sent!
I rolled across the ground and shouted with all the courage I could muster.
"Intrudeeer—!"
"……!"
And in that instant—
BOOM!
The castle wall exploded outward.
Something shot through the rubble like a thunderbolt and seized the assassin by the throat.
"Ghk……!"
The assassin thrashed. And the one gripping his neck was a familiar face.
"Bil…heim?"
"……."
Yes.
The one who had descended like a cannonball to save me was none other than Bilheim himself.
How had it come to this?
Just as I was about to leave the estate with the heart of a runaway, an assassin had appeared.
I had been certain Bilheim had sent him—and yet?
Standing before Khtun's eyes right now was Bilheim himself.
On a dark night with even the moonlight veiled by clouds, Bilheim hoisted the assassin high by the throat.
"How dare you."
Clang, clang, clang, clang—!
Alarm bells rang out, and torches flared to life throughout the lord's castle.
"Over here!"
"This way!"
Knights and soldiers, having grasped the presence of an intruder, came pouring in.
The knights who arrived on the scene froze stiff.
"Young Master Bilheim……?"
"What is this?"
Khtun sprawled on the ground, and Bilheim gripping the intruder's throat.
They had no idea how to interpret the situation.
But there was one thing they could tell.
What was that?
That Bilheim was furious in a way they had never seen before.
Faced with that blazing rage, the knights dared not step forward, and simply took in the sight in silence.
They could almost picture the intruder's miserable future.
How could they not?
Caught in hands that could tear iron plate apart.
And then—
"What is going on—! Wait—Young Master Bilheim?"
"……Sir Valt."
"What is the situation here?"
At the appearance of Valt, Falaon's foremost knight, Bilheim's killing intent eased a fraction.
His eyes still burned with fury, but reason had returned, if only a little.
With his head somewhat cooler, Bilheim—
SLAM!
"……!"
"……!"
—drove the intruder into the ground and dusted off his hands.
"He is not dead. Take him and interrogate him."
"May I ask for the details of the situation?"
"This man……."
Bilheim stopped there and glanced at Khtun.
Then he spoke quietly.
"He tried to kill Khtun."
"What?!"
Valt was startled by those words.
Tried to kill Young Master Khtun?
This was no ordinary matter.
A bastard son he might be, but a noble was a noble—and the baron's affection for him was far from small.
Valt's expression hardened at once, and he issued orders to the soldiers.
"Transfer the intruder to the dungeon. All forces, assume a state of alert."
"Yes, sir!"
"Yes, sir!"
As Falaon's soldiers moved in crisp, coordinated order, Bilheim took in the sight of his half-brother looking up at him—Khtun.
And in that moment, his brow furrowed.
"Where were you going at this hour?"
"I—I was just out for a night walk……."
"A night walk? With your bags packed like that?"
"……."
At Khtun's sudden silence, Bilheim let out a deep sigh.
But only for a moment.
He held out his hand.
"Get up."
"……."
"I said get up."
Khtun rose without taking that hand.
Bilheim's face tightened slightly at the sight, but it was so fleeting that no one noticed.
That was when Baron Falaon arrived on the scene.
"What is all this? What is this commotion?"
Having evacuated his wife Hella and gone searching for Khtun, the baron had come running late. He frowned at the sight of his gathered sons.
"Bilheim, you explain. What is all this? You said you were stepping out briefly? And why is Khtun here?"
"There was an intruder."
"An intruder?"
"Yes. It seems he ran into him while out for a night walk. Fortunately, I had just returned."
"Then that shout was Khtun's?"
"Yes."
The baron felt his mind go blank.
To hear his son's voice and fail to recognize it!
He was thoroughly ashamed of himself for searching for his son in all the wrong places.
He had nearly lost him!
"Khtun, are you all right? You're not hurt anywhere?"
"Yes. Thanks to Brother Bilheim……."
"Thank goodness. Truly, thank goodness."
The baron pressed a hand to his startled chest and pulled his son into an embrace.
Only for a moment—then his eyes, full of rage, turned on Valt.
"Sir Valt. Where is the intruder?"
"I ordered him transferred to the dungeon."
"……Show me the way. I will interrogate him myself. Khtun, get some rest. We will talk afterward."
Just as the baron was about to move—
"Father."
"What is it?"
At Bilheim's call, the baron stopped.
Bilheim made a careful request.
"I would like to take Khtun to the ancestral tomb."
"……The ancestral tomb?"
"Yes. I know it was scheduled for tomorrow, but I would like to go now."
The baron regarded his eldest son quietly.
As a child, this was the son he had spent little time with, always away on campaign.
A certain distance still remained between them—but his trust in his son was no less than any parent's.
And so the baron did not deliberate long before nodding.
"Very well. Go."
"Thank you. Come along."
With that, Bilheim set off.
"What are you doing? Hurry up."
"Yes……."
Khtun hesitantly followed behind him.
Behind Falaon Castle, a wooded hill.
A young man and a boy walked a dark night path.
The young man ahead was Bilheim, Falaon's firstborn—the current Baron Falaon's legitimate heir and designated successor.
And the boy trailing behind was the bastard son, Khtun.
Following Bilheim, Khtun rolled his eyes this way and that.
Tch. What is this?
The ancestral tomb, all of a sudden?
He had heard of it.
That the tomb of Falaon's founding ancestor lay on the hill behind the lord's castle.
You know—that one.
The one mentioned at the Blood Awakening Ceremony: one of the founding heroes of the Heorn Kingdom, the Dragonslayer who had slain a dragon.
He followed with questions swirling, and Bilheim's voice reached him.
"By tradition, the nobles of Falaon visit the ancestral tomb after the Blood Awakening Ceremony to have their qualifications tested."
"Qualifications……?"
"Yes. A sacred rite that only Falaon may perform."
He tilted his head at this unfamiliar information—and then a question slipped out unbidden.
"Why would I……."
"Why? What do you mean, why?"
That was when Bilheim stopped walking.
"Do you truly not know, that you ask?"
When Bilheim turned around, he looked thoroughly angry.
His expression was as stony as ever, but his eyes burned like open flame.
Khtun flinched under that presence—and Bilheim let out a deep sigh.
He seemed about to say something, then thought better of it, turned, and walked on.
"……."
"……."
Neither of them spoke after that.
And so the mountain climb began in silence.
Bilheim strode forward as if the path were perfectly clear even in the dark, while Khtun nearly tripped and fell more times than he could count.
Each time, Bilheim caught him without a word—and Khtun could make no sense of it.
Why was he doing this?
It was something neither fifteen-year-old Khtun nor thirty-three-year-old Kim Kangmin could understand.
By the time his whole body was soaked in sweat, Bilheim stopped.
"Here."
"This is……."
"Yes. The resting place of our founder, Lord Ark. Though his flesh melted away in the breath of the Mad Dragon, the arms he cherished remained intact. And so his descendants of that age enshrined those arms here in the ancestral tomb."
Honestly, it was hard to feel real.
A Mad Dragon?
Across both this life and the last, it was the stuff of legend.
As his sense of reality blurred and he blinked—
"You asked why."
"Pardon?"
"Why I brought you here. Did you not ask the reason?"
"……Yes."
"Place your hand upon that stone slab."
Khtun obediently set his hand on the slab sealing the ancestral tomb, just as he was told.
In that instant—
Prick!
Something shot out from the slab and nicked Khtun's finger with a small cut.
Immediately after, a magic circle spread outward from his hand.
A magic circle that responded only to the blood of Falaon.
Grrrind—!
As the slab opened with a thunderous rumble—
"I have never once thought of you as anything other than a Falaon."
Bilheim's voice sank into Khtun's ear.