The Death of Bayul
An assassination attempt had been made on the Crown Prince of the Empire itself. Thankfully, he had escaped any wound grave enough to threaten his life, though a long scar now marked his chest. Of the hundred knights who had come as his escort, nearly all had perished.
And that was not all.
The only son of Duke Randert.
The sole heir of the ducal house.
Bayul, a student of Carrington Academy, was dead.
Only the day before, Bayul had dazzled everyone with his extraordinary skill at the chess tournament, setting the whole school alight with excitement. Now the news of his death plunged not only the students who knew him but the entire academy into shock.
When word spread that he had pushed the Crown Prince out of harm's way and died at the assassin's hand in his place, the grief swelled all the deeper.
Soldiers ringed the academy walls in dense formation. Identity checks were carried out rigorously at every gate of the city, with strict orders to detain anyone showing the slightest sign of suspicion. In a single day, Carrington had plunged headlong into a state of emergency.
"How is His Highness the Crown Prince faring?"
"His body is unharmed. A scar will remain, I'm afraid, but the damaged organs have already healed. The trouble is that he suffers terribly each time he wakes, so we were left with no choice but to sedate him into sleep a short while ago."
They had used as many as ten amalun. Not so much out of medical necessity as out of consideration for the patient's station—even the smallest scar could become a matter of public concern.
"He witnessed Bayul die right before his eyes, so the shock must be immense. What a precious life to lose. I dread to think how the boy's father will take it…"
Count Leonett gripped his cane tightly, his worry plain. It had been love at first sight with that boy. He had accomplished great things—and he had been only sixteen. It was a death too painful, too cruel, to bear.
"His Grace the Duke will depart for here at once. I beg you to hold fast until then."
It was Ian, who made his request of Count Leonett with a rigid expression and an even stiffer voice.
"Don't trouble yourself over that. It's only what must be done."
"How are the other wounded?"
After bowing his head in gratitude, Ian turned his question to Priest Wagner.
"…Only a handful have any hope of recovery. I am sorry."
"There is nothing for you to be sorry for, Priest. The failure is mine. If only I had been at my post…"
Ian closed his eyes and let out a silent groan.
If only he had arrived a little sooner—just a little—young master Bayul would have lived.
Yes, he had been in the middle of a shift change. But his duty, his very purpose, was to stand as Bayul's escort knight. He had failed to carry out that duty, and so it was only right that he bear the consequences.
Whatever punishment awaited, he was prepared to accept it gladly. Even if it were death, he would meet it willingly.
What he feared was facing Duke Randert. The mere thought of his lord's grief already weighed heavy on his chest.
"Bayul's death grieves me deeply as well, but how can you call it your fault, Sir Ian, that they tied your feet? This was an ambush planned and prepared long in advance. If anything, it was thanks to Sir Hayes holding the line that it ended as lightly as it did."
Professor Rothius, who unlike his usual self had been sitting in silence, offered the consolation.
In truth, while he was relieved that his nephew, the Crown Prince, had survived, the death of his student Bayul was a tremendous shock to him as well. He too worried over how Duke Randert would react.
"How is Hayes? They say she's regained consciousness, but I haven't been able to visit yet."
"Her shoulder and face are badly wounded. Had her body not been trained to the utmost, she would have died long before. Even so, the temple priests are taking turns pouring divine power into her, so she should be stable within a few days."
"Have you told her of the young master's death?"
Praying the answer would be no, Ian looked at Priest Wagner with desperate eyes.
"I have ordered everyone to keep silent about it for now. The patient's recovery must come before all else."
"…Thank you."
Knowing Hayes, she would never be able to stay still if she learned the truth. Ian himself was clinging to endurance with everything he had.
They were the Full Moon Knight Order. They had been commanded to protect the Crown Prince, but their true lord was Duke Randert—and Bayul was that lord's son. Between the two of them, they owed their lord a lifetime's debt of sin.
"Have you still not identified who the beasts were?"
"Not a single one survived. At the very end, they all took their own lives."
"They killed themselves?"
Professor Rothius furrowed his brow as if he had never heard of such a thing.
"They are practitioners of a sword called the schotel, carefully trained in a weapon rarely used these days, precisely to hide their origins. Success or failure, they were almost certainly ordered to end their own lives at the last. It's nothing out of the ordinary."
Such was usually the fate of assassins. In a matter of this gravity—an attempt on the Crown Prince of the Empire—the masterminds would have spared no effort to bury every trace leading back to themselves.
But once His Grace the Duke arrived, he would surely uncover everything. When that day came, no enemy, whoever they were, would escape the annihilation of their entire house. If his lord permitted it, Ian vowed, he would stand at the vanguard of that retribution himself.
"Did you remove their masks and confirm their faces?"
"Of course. But there was no one we recognized. Do you have someone in mind, my lord?"
"What would an old relic like me, cooped up at home all day, know about that? That rascal over there, now—maybe."
Count Leonett jerked his chin toward Professor Rothius, seated across from him. He was one of the very few who knew the professor's imperial blood.
"The methods are too bold. That's exactly why I can't make head or tail of who it might be."
"You mean that sincerely?"
"There's no shortage of people who'd love to pull a stunt like this. But not one of them has the gall to go this far. With His Grace Duke Randert alive and well, who would dare? And even if someone had the nerve, it's no easy thing to raise and hide a force capable of cutting down a hundred knights without drawing notice. No—it's utterly impossible."
"Then, one way or another, we've no choice but to wait for Duke Randert."
The unthinkable had happened. As lord of Carrington, this was a matter the Count could never overlook.
Upon Count Leonett rested both the authority to know everything connected to the assassination attempt and the responsibility to see it resolved.
"My lord, you should come outside at once."
Just then, a voice called for him from beyond the door.
"What is it?"
The door opened, and a retainer of House Leonett entered.
"There's… a problem outside."
"A problem? What in the world kind of problem? No—never mind that, of all times to raise a ruckus, what lunatic is causing trouble now?"
"Well, you see…"
The man kept trailing off at the end of his words, which was more than a little irritating. And sure enough—
"…It's the young master."
"What the devil is this boy up to now! Why, what's he done?"
Everyone around them knew that getting Count Leonett to curse at you was a privilege of family. But Priest Wagner was meeting him for the first time today, and no matter the circumstances, he found himself darting his eyes about, unsure where to look at the sight of the Count hurling curses at his own grandson without a shred of restraint.
"He's throwing a fit, demanding to be let into the resting chamber."
"No one is to enter the resting chamber. It's off-limits to everyone—myself included!"
"Yes, and I told him the very same, that it was absolutely out of the question until His Grace Duke Randert arrives, but he won't listen to reason."
"Where is this? I'll go myself."
They were currently at the Temple of Despair. The Crown Prince, Hayes, and the surviving knights were all receiving intensive treatment here, while Bayul's body had been laid to rest, for the time being, in a borrowed prayer room of the temple.
"Allow me to lead the way."
No one knew the temple's halls better than Priest Wagner. As he took the lead, the rest rose as one and followed.
By the time they had walked a long while and reached the resting chamber, the sight that greeted them was a spectacle to behold. Aidan, naturally—and Eli, Quinn, and even Logan had joined in, haranguing the knights guarding the chamber without mercy.
"I said step aside this instant! Are you deaf? Do you know who I am? Aidan Shu Leonett! Second son of House Leonett! I'll cut you down right here, I swear it!"
"And who are you to block us? Damn it, will you move? Get lost before I burn the whole lot of you to ash!"
"Move. Or I won't hold back any longer."
Quinn's long blue hair was deepening in color by the moment. Water rose bobbing from a nearby vase and flew toward her.
"I have words I must say to Bayul. Let us in!"
Logan alone still observed proper courtesy in his demands, but there was no telling when even his eyes might turn wild. Thanks to the four of them refusing to budge, it was the knights of the ironclad security detail who were being worn down to death instead.
"You brats! What do you think you're doing!"
Count Leonett slammed his cane against the floor and roared. Where such force came from in that frail body of his, no one could say, but his voice thundered down the temple corridor.
"Grandfather!"
Aidan lit up and came running.
"Perfect timing! Get these people out of the way, quick! Tell them to open the door already!"
The Count's bellow didn't land so much as a scratch. The boy had never been one to listen in the first place, and now, with Bayul on his mind, he was blind to everything else.
"You rascal, can't you read the sign? It says no entry!"
"I can read it! But why is it forbidden? We're Bayul's friends!"
At Aidan's protest, his friends nodded furiously as if on cue.
"We're going to see it with our own eyes."
"There's no way Bayul is dead!"
"He would never leave us behind!"
The adults were no different in their refusal to accept Bayul's death. Ian above all would have given anything to go back to the previous night and die in Bayul's place. If only he could turn back time, he would never have agreed to that shift change. The guilt gnawed at him relentlessly—if only he had arrived one minute sooner, Bayul would have lived.
"I understand how you all feel. But you cannot see Bayul now. Until Duke Randert arrives, no one will be granted access!"
"So what if you're our grandfather? What gives you the right to decide that? Was Bayul your friend? We're telling you we'll confirm it with our own eyes—why won't you let us?"
Aidan screamed with all the fury he could muster. Beside him, the others glared at the adults with bloodshot eyes.
"That's enough—all of you, stop."
At last, Professor Rothius, unable to watch any longer, stepped in to mediate.
"Just let them in. Keep this up and you'll be arresting these children next."
"But still—"
"They were the ones closest to Bayul. Let them say their farewells."
Cutting off Ian's objection, Professor Rothius pleaded on behalf of his students.
Count Leonett looked up at Ian. The Duke of Randert's son was dead. In his mind, Bayul's body must be guarded intact until the Duke himself arrived, and no one else.
What will you do?
With a look, he passed the decision to Ian—here, in this place, the man closest to Duke Randert.
"…I'll allow ten minutes."
After a long hesitation, Ian reluctantly gave in. The door to the prayer room swung open at once, and the four of them dashed inside.
A short while later, all that seeped out from behind the closed door was the sound of heartbreaking weeping.