You Can't Inscribe It in Blood
If he will give me whatever I want in exchange for keeping quiet…
Up until now, the vast majority of transactions Xiel had ever engaged in consisted of taking a portion of his monthly salary to buy food. This, however, was a completely novel proposition.
I see such bargains exist in this world.
Even so, an overriding principle took absolute precedence above all else.
“That violates school regulations.”
“It what…?”
“Faculty members are forbidden from receiving any form of compensation from students’ guardians.”
Darren stood utterly dumbfounded by the flat, immediate rejection.
“It is explicitly stated in the faculty handbook,” Xiel added evenly.
Darren stared at him in horror. Did that mean this instructor was going to blab? Reveal to everyone that the Great Lord of the West had failed to notice a carnival swindle and lost a knife-throwing match to a mere elective teacher?
Please, I am begging you, just don’t say a single word about me!
The sheer desperation radiating from the man was immense. It was so potent that even Xiel, a man bound rigidly to institutional regulations, felt slightly swayed by the pleading look in Darren’s eyes. A decent compromise came to mind.
“I will accept nothing and simply act as though I do not know you.”
“Y-yes! Exactly that!”
“By the way, who might you be?”
“……”
Is that what you meant by acting like you don't know me?!
Seeing Xiel’s completely blank expression—one that genuinely conveyed he had no clue who was standing before him—Darren felt his blood pressure skyrocket. Yet Xiel had done nothing more than follow Darren’s exact request. He had asked him to pretend not to know him, so Xiel had simply treated him as a total stranger he had never laid eyes on before.
He appears angry, Xiel noted, tilting his head slightly.
Darren was indeed seething, but he forced himself to play along. Even if Xiel couldn't quite fathom why the man was upset after getting precisely what he wanted, the aristocrat cleared his throat.
“Ha, haha! Did I not just introduce myself? I am Darren Rihardt, head of House Rihardt.”
“I see. I am Xiel Steelheart, elective instructor at Edelbein Academy’s Sword School. A pleasure to meet you.”
Perplexed by the bizarre exchange unfolding before her, Celia glanced back and forth between her father and Instructor Xiel. “What are you two even doing…?”
“I-I was just so thrilled to meet him that I had to introduce myself twice! Hahaha! Ha! Yes, quite. We merely crossed paths at the festival earlier. You should have heard how highly he praised you, Celia!”
“I never did any such—”
Darren leaned in and hissed under his breath at lightning speed. ‘Just roll with it!’
Watching this from the side, Berhal broke into a warm, gratified smile. “I had no idea you had already made Instructor Xiel’s acquaintance, My Lord. He is truly a remarkable educator. In fact, he is the very person responsible for fostering such cooperation among our first-years and producing these extraordinary results.”
“Haha, is that so? I knew at once he must be an extraordinary gentleman. Our Celia has spoken so highly of him, after all.”
Celia ducked her head, her cheeks flushing slightly. Taking in the sight, Xiel offered a flat remark of his own.
“Student Celia Rihardt has improved greatly under my instruction.”
“I… I s-see.”
While Darren stammered in surprise at the teacher’s brazen lack of false modesty, Celia chimed in to support him. “He’s telling the truth, Father. Instructor Xiel’s training is no joke.”
“I-is that right?”
“Yes! Both Deleve and I have developed by leaps and bounds under him.”
She’s completely entranced by this man, Darren thought, grinding his teeth. To fawn over some bizarre fellow who doesn’t possess an ounce of humility! Still, seeing his beloved daughter so thrilled, he supposed he ought to indulge her—
“Well, well. Good day to you, Instructor Xiel Steelheart. I have heard a great deal about you from my youngest son.”
It turned out the man who truly lacked humility was an entirely different person.
Of all the moments for this bastard to butt in, Darren thought, scowling.
Amos Kundel. The single face in the world Darren hated seeing the most.
“I am Amos Kundel, head of House Kundel.”
“I am Xiel Steelheart, elective instructor at Edelbein Academy’s Sword School. It is an honor to make your acquaintance.”
After exchanging a firm handshake, Amos smiled faintly and clapped a heavy hand onto Deleve’s shoulder. “I was told that you elevated my youngest son’s meager swordsmanship to new heights and imparted countless lessons to him. For the record, we Kundels carve both debts of gratitude and bitter grudges deep into our bones.”
Deleve blinked in astonishment, staring wide-eyed at his father.
“In your case, Instructor Xiel,” Amos continued gravely, “I shall carve your favor into my very bones.”
To carve favor and grudge into the bone. It was the ancestral motto of House Kundel.
Father is invoking the family motto…?
As far as Deleve knew, his father never uttered those words lightly. He understood the tremendous weight they carried. When a Kundel spoke of carving favor into his bones, it signified a profound, boundless gratitude. Conversely, when they spoke of carving a grudge, it signaled an all-consuming wrath that only blood could settle. In this moment, Amos was expressing his genuine, heartfelt thanks to Xiel.
“Carving it into bone sounds painful,” Xiel replied plainly.
“Hm?”
“However, it seems certain to never be forgotten.”
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Amos’s lips. “Your kindness will certainly be etched forever, Instructor Xiel. I will ensure you are handsomely repaid.”
“By school regulations, faculty members are prohibited from receiving any compensation from guardians.”
The upturned corner of Amos’s mouth instantly smoothed out into a flat line.
“Instead,” Xiel added, “seeing Student Deleve Kundel continue to improve his skills will be more than sufficient recompense for me.”
Amos’s grin returned, rising far higher than before.
Once again, Xiel had interpreted everything with total literalism. Since the rules forbade him from receiving gifts or favors from parents, and since he found genuine satisfaction in guiding students to grow stronger, that alone seemed the ideal reward. His unvarnished answer pleased Amos immensely.
“A truly magnificent attitude, Instructor. It seems our youngest was blessed with immense fortune to have entered the academy this year.”
Deleve, too, looked upon his teacher with eyes overflowing with gratitude and awe.
Meanwhile, nearby, a vein bulged on Darren’s temple. Those two just hijacked my conversation…!
“Ahem! Cough.” Darren shoved his way back between them. “Instructor Xiel, I, too, shall carve your favor—not into bone, but deep into my blood!”
“Darren…” Amos sighed.
“Listen here, Amos! It is only natural to remember such kindness. Tell me, is blood not vastly thicker and more vivid than dry bone?”
“You cannot carve anything into blood. It is a liquid.”
“Ah.”
“Unless you intend to carve with blood, that is.”
“……”
Celia smacked her forehead with a soft thud, while Deleve let out a heavy, weary sigh.
Here they go again.
Why must they always despise each other this much?
The Great Lord of the South, Kundel. The Great Lord of the West, Rihardt. Each commanded vast swaths of the empire’s territory, so their paths rarely crossed. Yet whenever they found themselves in the same room, they snarled at each other like squabbling children. Word had it they had been classmates back during their own days as academy cadets.
“Ahem, yes. The two of you remain as close as ever, I see,” Berhal interjected diplomatically.
“Hardly, Department Head!”
“That could not be further from the truth, Sir!”
Both great lords denied it with frantic vehemence.
Xiel observed their posturing with a cool, detached perspective. Both of them are remarkably strong.
If they were assigned assassination marks, they would rank among the most difficult targets in existence—warriors of such caliber that an operative would have to prepare for a brutal, direct confrontation even in the middle of a covert strike.
Not impossible to kill, Xiel calculated. However, executing the contract would require taking significant risks.
Naturally, there was no reason he would ever have to do that again.
“Hmph! At any rate, I shall not forget your kindness, Instructor Xiel,” Darren declared haughtily. “Please continue to take good care of our Celia.”
“I must ask that you prioritize my youngest son, Instructor Xiel.”
“Now hold on! I spoke first—”
Watching them, an epiphany struck Xiel. So this is what it means to be childish.
He had read the word in books before, yet he had never quite grasped what it truly meant in practice. The written definitions had seemed entirely different.
The text described it as ‘thinking or acting in the manner of young children.’ Yet these two were grown men, not toddlers. Books, it seemed, were not always entirely accurate. Xiel was slowly learning that the wider world contained all sorts of strange exceptions.
Around them, the murmurs of the surrounding crowd grew louder.
“Wait, the lord himself is speaking to him… Is that man the Instructor Xiel everyone is talking about?”
“Oho, perhaps I ought to go over and introduce myself as well.”
The eyes of the southern and western nobles attending the banquet naturally converged upon the center of the hall.
“Judging by their expressions, they seem extraordinarily close.”
“We shouldn't just stand here gawking! We should pay our respects too. Isn’t he our children’s instructor?”
Every parent in the room wanted to curry favor with the man who had captured the attention of two Great Lords. If grand territorial rulers spoke with him on such familiar terms, paying their respects was the only sensible choice.
“Instructor Xiel, allow me to introduce myself. I am…”
“My son’s eyes light up whenever he mentions your name!”
“Please, look after my child as well!”
A relentless wave of handshakes and formal greetings crashed over him. While Xiel performed his social duties as an instructor, his sharp senses remained locked onto a gaze that had been fixed on him from the very beginning.
Not far off stood a lone figure who had not approached, unlike the rest of the nobility. More accurately, he seemed entirely unable to summon the courage to draw near.
“At long last… I have the opportunity to greet you properly.”
Only after the throng of aristocrats had dispersed did the solitary man step forward, bowing with quiet, profound reverence.
His scent is familiar, Xiel noted. The man carried a scent remarkably similar to one of his students.
“I am Langle Harmattan, head of House Harmattan. My son… is deeply in your debt.”
House Harmattan made its home on the remote northern frontier. Consequently, the family's patriarch, Langle Harmattan, almost never had occasion to leave his ancestral domain. In truth, it was more accurate to say he simply could not afford to leave.
The North was a brutal, unforgiving realm. The moment a lord left his seat unattended, rival families were liable to sweep in without warning. Yet despite the mortal risk, Langle had chosen to make the long journey south to the academy for one reason alone: to fulfill his solemn duty of honor.
“I cannot thank you enough for treating my son.”
Langle offered the highest form of courtesy he knew. Dropping to one knee in the traditional northern salute, he reached out to clasp Xiel’s hand. Xiel simply looked down at him and gave a slight shake of his head.
“I did not treat him. The physician did.”
Langle took this as a display of profound humility. He is choosing modesty over pride. Or perhaps the man felt burdened by the weight of praise. No matter how extraordinary his skills, he remained a simple elective instructor. Langle did not think less of him for it; rather, he felt a kinship with someone whose circumstances mirrored his own. House Harmattan was merely a frail, struggling house among the savage powers of the North, much as an elective lecturer occupied the lowest rungs of the academy's hierarchy.
“Be that as it may, it was you who opened that path for him. What is more… I was told that you personally adjusted his breathing technique.”
When he had first heard the news, Langle had doubted his own ears. A knight’s breathing technique was set in stone the moment it was mastered, rendering any alteration agonizingly difficult and fraught with immense peril. Yet this instructor named Xiel had refined his son’s circulation pathways cleanly, without exposing the boy to any danger whatsoever.
“You have my deepest thanks. Because of you, Instructor, my son’s entire future has been transformed.”
He had even eradicated the root ailment that had plagued the boy for years—a feat that no doctor or priest had managed across more than a decade of desperate searching.
“Cough, hack!”
A sudden, harsh cough racked Langle’s chest. Though Xiel gave no outward reaction, Langle quickly waved a hand to dismiss the outburst.
“Haha… cough. It seems the sudden change in climate has brought on a slight chill.” Clearing his throat, Langle pushed onward. “If it would not be an imposition… would you accept this?”
He held out a sheathed sword. The hand offering the weapon trembled ever so slightly—not a natural, involuntary shudder, but the desperate, strained vibration of a man exhausting his willpower to conceal it.
Xiel offered the same reply he had given countless times already that day. “By school regulations, faculty members are forbidden from accepting anything from students or their guardians—”
“This is no gift or payment, Instructor. Shameless as it may be, I come to ask one further favor of you.” Langle offered an awkward, self-deprecating smile. “Truth be told, I had prepared another offering—a precious jewel belonging to our house. But after watching you refuse every gift from the other parents today, I realized you would never take it from me either. So… at the risk of appearing even more brazen, I must entrust you with this instead.”
Xiel glanced down at the weapon. Even from a brief inspection of its scabbard and hilt, the craftsmanship was unmistakably exquisite.
“Why are you giving this to me?”
“I will likely never have the chance to return here. I am not certain how much you know of our lands, but coming south required an immense, perilous resolution on my part. The North is… cold and merciless. If word spreads that my seat was left vacant, our neighbors may very well march upon our borders.”
“I understand,” Xiel nodded quietly. Yet that still did not explain why the sword was being thrust into his hands.
“This blade is the heirloom sword of House Harmattan. It was meant to be passed down to Yurio on the day he proved himself worthy of inheriting the family name. If… if you would be willing to deliver it to him with your own hands when that day arrives, I could ask for nothing more.”
“Why must I be the one to deliver it?”
“Because I may not be around to do so myself.”
A heavy, ominous weight hung behind the words.
“Furthermore,” Langle continued softly, “if the teacher Yurio respects and follows so faithfully presents it to him when his time has come, there is nothing in this world that could bring me greater peace.” Langle smiled warmly, his hands closing over Xiel’s. “Until then, I would be eternally grateful if you kept it safe on his behalf.”
“If that is all, I will accept the task. I will deliver it to Student Yurio Harmattan once he is ready.”
“Thank you. Truly, thank you, Instructor. Forgive my shameless request.”
Yet one small uncertainty remained in Xiel’s mind.
“How am I to determine when that ‘time’ has arrived?”
“That… you will come to understand naturally.”
As Langle spoke, Xiel caught the faint, undeniable signatures radiating from the nobleman’s flesh.
Physical degeneration.
The rasping cough. The hand trembling as it held the sword. The dark, necrotic blemishes below the eyes that thick layers of makeup had tried, and failed, to completely obscure from Xiel’s trained sight.
He is dying.
“Cough!” Another dry, hollow spasm shook the patriarch’s frame. It was the sound of a flame guttering in the wind, a life slowly burning out to ash.
Perhaps noticing the sharp intensity in Xiel’s amber eyes, Langle offered a bittersweet shake of his head. “I know my own condition far better than anyone. Fortunately, my son remains entirely unaware. I have no regrets. Not when my boy has found such a wonderful mentor.”
A faint, weary smile graced his weathered face.
“My only wish is that I survive long enough to see my son take the reins of our house.”
Though he had neglected his own failing vessel, the pure, unyielding devotion of a father shone through his eyes without an ounce of remorse.
His illness has progressed significantly, Xiel observed.
Unlike Yurio’s affliction, Langle’s breathing was erratic in an entirely different way, his heartbeat thrashing wildly against his ribcage. Yurio had suffered from a congenital defect, but because treatment had begun before his condition deteriorated beyond repair, his body had been capable of total recovery. Langle, however, was suffering from systemic physical collapse brought on by an advanced illness that had already ravaged his core.
In cases like this, curing the latter was vastly more difficult than fixing the former.
Even so, by employing the Breathing of the Polar Night to trace and guide the internal flow of mana, it was possible to stabilize the failing circulation and temporarily restore balance to the dying flesh.
“Lord Harmattan,” Xiel said, stepping forward. “Pardon me for a moment.”
“Pardon?”