Familiar, Yet Strange (3)
Familiar, yet strange.
“Does the frozen tundra that never thaws hold any meaning for us? I know many die even in its defense. But is it meaningful enough to justify forcing soldiers into those wastes?”
Marei felt a chill crawl across his own skin at the words leaving his mouth. The victims were tragic, yes. But that did not mean they should push north. Logically it was sound, yet the statement felt so alien he could scarcely believe he had spoken it. It was an answer stripped of all emotion—an excessively rational voice that seemed to have excised feeling entirely.
“Then how long must we endure? Until that so-called prosperity arrives? Or until we can claim the tundra with almost no casualties?”
“The military does not exist to conquer foreign lands. It exists to defend the empire from external threats.”
After uttering the final sentence, Marei pressed his lips tightly shut. Only then did he realize his mistake. These were not words one spoke before a soldier. No—certainly not words a junior should use to lecture an elder, let alone a military veteran.
“The young these days… they’re clever in ways we never were.”
The old man drank his cold coffee without a flicker of emotion. His stern eyes remained fixed on Marei. It was neither admiration nor praise. Somehow, Marei understood it was nothing more than an empty remark.
“……Thank you.”
The old man drew out a pocket watch, glanced at the time, and gave a small nod.
“The person I’ve been waiting for should arrive soon. I became too absorbed asking what thoughts today’s youth carry. I’ve kept you far too long. Is there anything else you’d like to eat?”
“I’m fine. I’ve eaten more than enough. My opinions are lacking, but thank you for listening.”
The old man repeated that it had been enjoyable and readily let Marei leave. Watching the boy’s receding back, he rose from his seat and brushed himself off.
“The way he speaks is exactly like Julia. It’s almost frightening.”
The old man donned his fedora and strode away briskly. He had called the boy Julia’s disciple. Whether the resemblance was natural or learned, he couldn’t say. Compared to the things she usually said to him, the boy’s words had been far gentler. More objectively, he lacked confidence. Still, the old man liked how the youth refused to yield beneath his gaze and spoke his mind to the end.
Those sparkling, clear eyes and the passionate conviction in his voice truly mirrored Julia. It would have been easier to believe he was her actual son.
He turned slowly to look behind him, but the boy had already vanished. The old man gave a quiet chuckle and muttered words no one else would hear.
“Marei de Pawen… Even if the hero’s blood has thinned, a hero is still a hero.”
Without hesitation, the old man left the square.
Marei let out a small sigh, regretting how he had rambled on to the stranger as though his opinion were absolute, without receiving any real evaluation in return. He had simply organized what Julia and Labella told him, yet he doubted he had conveyed any of it properly. The more he spoke, the less he could remember his own words. Had he only said what he wanted to say? Had he misspoken? Those thoughts refused to leave his head.
He was bewildered by the confidence—or audacity—that had let him speak so boldly to an old soldier.
By the time Marei reached home later than expected, he noticed the luxurious carriage parked before the house he shared with Labella. A crude crest depicted a green dragon clutching a sword in its jaws. It belonged to the Governor-General.
“Are you… Young Master Marei de Pawen?”
An unfamiliar elderly man—one he could confidently call a stranger—addressed him. It seemed today was a day for encounters with old men.
The wooden cane gripped in pristine white gloves was polished to a smooth sheen, and the neatly trimmed beard carried an unmistakable air of dignity.
“Yes? Ah, yes…”
Why would someone like this come looking for him? Marei could only nod and wait for whatever the old man would say next.
“I am Dember, head butler of the Pawen family. I have come to escort you, young master. The Governor-General awaits.”
When the elder placed a hand over his chest and bowed, Marei startled and instinctively moved to stop him. Though the man had introduced himself as head butler, his smile was rigidly formal.
“You are most courteous, young master. We hope the adopted heir of the Pawen family adapts well. Ah, I’ve lost track of time with idle chatter. Any further delay and the Governor-General may become displeased.”
“Ah, yes… I-I’ll go!”
The old man was stiff, yet somehow gentle. The hand gripping the cane looked slightly awkward.
“I heard long ago that Lady Labella had taken in an adopted son, but she strictly forbade us from visiting. That is why I greet you only now. You may call me Dember.”
“Hello, Dember. Please call me Marei.”
“Unlike other houses, the head butler of the Pawen family is not from a collateral line. I am simply a servant who attends Lady Loren.”
“Still, how could I possibly make an elder…”
“You truly resemble Lady Mari. This old man is glad to encounter such joy again in his final years. Though it differs from my own small pleasure, you must behave exactly as you do. The successor of the Pawen family must never bow his head to others.”
Though he had thought the distance short, the journey to the Governor’s residence took far longer than expected.
“Is there any dish you particularly enjoy? I can contact the chef at once to prepare it.”
“I don’t really avoid any foods…”
“Considering Lady Labella’s preferences, the seasoning may be slightly light. The head chef asked me to note your tastes. He is quite eager.”
“Labella… Mother did say I should eat more meat.”
They exchanged such trivial conversations one after another.
The old man who called himself Dember was unlike anyone Marei had ever met. He seemed talkative yet quiet. Dember initiated every topic, yet Marei always delivered the closing remarks. And all the while, Dember gently steered the flow of discussion.
“…Young master. As one ages, useless worries multiply. May I speak on a matter that might be presumptuous?”
“Ah, yes…”
Taken only as words, the request might have sounded unpleasant. Yet coming from the head butler, it carried no such tone. The only thought that remained was that he should listen carefully.
“Among Lady Loren’s living blood relatives, only Lady Labella remains. Though the Governor-General is generous toward kin, she maintains exceedingly strict standards from an objective standpoint. Lady Labella has never once disappointed her.”
Dember was looking at him. Marei looked back, yet he could not truly see. Even though his eyes registered the man, he could not perceive Dember as a person. Though he believed he was watching him, the image refused to form in his mind.
“I am glad you resemble Lady Mari, young master. This old man, who merely awaits death, can only feel profound gratitude that someone like you has appeared in the Pawen family.”
Perception distortion. The term flashed through Marei’s mind. It was the spell Ilien occasionally cast on herself when she linked arms with him and strolled through the academy grounds. He wondered if the man might be dangerous, yet those eyes—whose color he could not discern—were far too tranquil. Strangely, that reassured him. The bracelet Erden had given him helped as well.
“That is why I fear for you. I fear how Lady Loren, who demands such rigorous standards even of blood relatives, might wound you. Therefore…”
Dember appeared to hesitate. This old man clearly knew about his biological mother. Marei wanted to ask, but the man’s lips kept moving without sound, and since he could not fathom why such words were being offered so suddenly, he could only listen.
“No matter what occurs, I hope you will endure. Lady Loren is the greatest elder of the Pawen family. She is also an ancient dragon whose thoughts cannot be comprehended by human minds. You must already know how presumptuous it is for me to speak this way. This old man believes there is a reason Lady Labella—who has never once been stubborn—chose to adopt you. Please do not betray the expectations of the Governor-General or Lady Labella.”
Marei realized then that Dember was not a kind or good person. His mind snapped into focus. The head that had been drifting thoughtlessly began to turn once more. He understood that the head butler was warning him: do not show a disappointing side to Loren.
“I understand.”
Dember said nothing further. Both eyes remained fixed on Marei. Marei silently endured the gaze. No—he tried to truly see him. He began slowly sketching the face that refused to form in his mind.
The man had called himself an elder, yet he had been excessively rude to someone he had just met. Still, Marei felt no anger. He asked himself repeatedly: why was he not angry? Simply because the speaker was an old man? No. He could not be certain, but he could guess the reason.
The words Loren had hurled at him on their first meeting. The venom and insults she had spat without restraint. As those memories flashed past, Marei finally understood why he remained so composed.
He held no expectations whatsoever toward Loren de Pawen. There had been moments when the title of Governor-General stirred nameless excitement in him. He had often wondered what sort of person ruled Valter, and his curiosity about the “grandmother” Loren occasionally mentioned had swollen like an overfilled balloon.
Perhaps it had simply grown too large. Or perhaps Loren’s razor-sharp nature had burst those expectations at once. He could not clearly tell which.
The word “expectation” did not fit. “Longing” might have been more accurate.
Marei looked at Dember and offered a faint smile.
His memories of his mother were fragmentary, like shards of glass. Each piece remained vivid, yet none connected. Even so, what expectation could he possibly hold toward Loren, who had insulted his mother to his face?
Loren was an adult. Moreover, the greatest elder of the family. Only Loren and Labella remained of the Pawen bloodline, yet certain things still had to be upheld.
It was strange that he felt no rebellious urge against the words Loren had spoken while looking at him. But fighting her was truly out of the question. Even if he bent and endured with all his strength, nothing would be gained. At the very least, his biological mother, Mari de Pawen, would have understood his current decision.
What would Labella have said? How would she react? He was curious, yet he deliberately kept silent. There was anxiety that she might side with Loren, but far greater was the fear that, because of him, she might clash with her only remaining blood relative.
“I have been rude to you, young master.”
Dember drew a small dagger from within his coat. Startled, Marei instinctively thrust forward the bracelet Erden had given him, but the blade was not aimed at him. It turned toward Dember’s own hand. With a single motion, he severed his pinky finger.
“Ah…”
Blood spurted intermittently, yet none splashed toward Marei. As it flowed to the floor, he could not even react properly. He could only stare at the severed pinky rolling in the center of the growing crimson pool.
“I do not know whether this old man’s finger holds any meaning, but please forgive me.”
“De-Dember…?”
“It is insufficient.”
The old man’s blade moved to his ring finger and cut without hesitation.
“Wh-what are you doing? The blood…!”
“It is fine. Can you forgive this rude old man, young master?”
Marei panted, barely able to breathe. His face had gone deathly pale. He tried to comprehend the situation, but his mind had blanked completely; he could do nothing.
Dember nodded as though it were the most natural thing in the world, smiled, and pressed the dagger against his wrist.
“My right hand…”
“St-stop…!! Stop it! Dember!!”
His hands trembled violently and he lacked the strength to stand, yet Marei reached out and desperately seized the hand holding the dagger. It was hard. Terribly cold. A chill that could not possibly belong to a living human. He flinched and pulled away for an instant, but then gripped Dember’s right hand even tighter.
“I understand.”
The old man gave a light nod and began staunching the wound with practiced movements. When he wrapped an unknown metal around the stump, the bleeding stopped.
“The b-blood…”
“It will cease soon. There is no need to concern yourself.”
“But Dember…”
He could read nothing from the old man’s expression. No—he could not even see the expression. It was as though a hazy fog obscured it. He had been slowly sketching the face only moments ago, but the rising nausea of self-loathing made him forget everything. The metallic stench of blood made his stomach churn. He no longer wanted to sit in the same space as this grotesque old man.
Honestly, Marei wanted to run.
“I consider two fingers a cheap price for a single piece of advice. You need not worry. When I spoke on Lady Labella’s behalf, I cut all the way to my right shoulder.”
Had Labella known someone like this? Or, as head butler, did that mean she had grown up surrounded by people commanded by such a man? Marei could only nod silently. The mention of cutting to the shoulder. The earlier sensation of cold metal. The slightly unnatural movements. An old man with prosthetic limbs.
Was it truly right to go to the Governor’s castle? Doubt began to creep in.
Marei gazed anxiously out the carriage window. Had the main gate of the old Valter royal castle not been visible beyond the clear glass, he would have leapt from the vehicle at once.
“Welcome to the royal castle of old Valter, now the Governor’s residence and Governor’s Castle, young master.”
He was not an old man but a ghost. Alive, yet missing his own body. Dember was a ghost.
“Then, please enjoy your dinner with the Governor-General…”
The carriage was drawn through the gate.
After passing through, Marei could not regain his senses. Following Dember’s lead, he washed, changed clothes, and now sat at a table laden with dishes so lavish it seemed wrong to call it mere dinner. The entire scene felt unreal.
If he closed his eyes, he would surely fall asleep. The image of the head butler severing his own fingers kept pressing unbearable dizziness into his skull. It felt as though his lungs were being crushed. He could not breathe properly.
Still, he forced himself to keep breathing, struggling to calm his pounding heart.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
The sound of heels beyond the massive closed doors yanked Marei back into reality. Only then could he draw a deep breath and take stock of his surroundings.
Dozens of dishes still releasing faint wisps of steam. A vast banquet hall empty of any other person. An excessively long table.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
The measured footsteps beyond the door approached without pause, perfectly regular, relentless.
It was surely Loren. Marei inhaled deeply, exhaling in quick bursts, doing everything he could simply to steady his fracturing mind.