A Father's Fears
"Yes, Father…"
"And you're telling me Ian started a fight there? Who was it against, again?"
"Well, you see…"
"Was it the Hector family, by any chance?"
Bayul was genuinely taken aback. He had never said a word to Ian about Jared, after all. He'd even given special instructions to keep quiet about the night market incident—nothing had actually come of it, so the plan was for the four of them to keep it to themselves for the time being.
He hadn't wanted to cause his father any worry, having always been the disappointing son. But judging by how pointedly the Duke was asking, he seemed to already know a fair bit about the whole affair with that Jared fellow.
"How did you…?"
A crease flickered across the forehead of Duke Randert, who had remained composed until that moment. His heavy-lidded gaze turned so cold, so suddenly, that not only Bayul but all of his friends flinched and shrank back.
"Any other trouble I should know about?"
It meant: if you're hiding anything else, spill it all now.
"No, sir. Nothing else happened."
Not a single word was said about the most important thing of all—the spirits. His friends found it strange, but Bayul simply wasn't ready to talk about it yet.
"Very well. I think we'll take our leave and let you enjoy the rest of your time with your friends."
"…Do you mean me as well, Father?"
"I have things to discuss. Come with me."
The Duke could easily have summoned his son with a word to a servant, and yet he had come in person—because of the friends. He had wanted to see with his own eyes the young people his son had befriended for the first time in his life here in Carrington.
And that decision had proven correct.
Cold as Quinn might have appeared at first glance, her gaze toward his son was soft. Aidan was bright and overflowing with warmth, and the gypsy boy called Eli gave off a slightly unsettled feeling, but for now he seemed mature and level-headed.
The one who actually troubled him most was Logan—but the Duke could guess the reason well enough, so he chose to let it pass. The boy needed time.
'That was needless worry after all.'
His footsteps felt a little lighter as he left the room. In truth, the expression on Bayul's face as he trailed behind him was nothing but dark—but the Duke was too preoccupied with other thoughts to notice.
When they arrived at the Duke's residence, someone was already waiting there. It was someone Bayul knew well—his escort knight, Ian.
"Sir Ian, what brings you here? No—more importantly, how are you here at this hour?"
"I traveled on the same train as the young master. My lord Duke."
Ian bowed respectfully to the Duke.
"Sit."
Even at Ian's arrival, the Duke showed not the slightest trace of surprise.
"You rode the same train as me? You never said a word about that to me."
Bayul couldn't make sense of the situation. When he'd been selected for the delegation and sent word to the estate, the only reply he'd received was a terse acknowledgment—nothing more.
"I am responsible for the young master's safety. The Academy's dormitory arrangements are beyond my control, but on every other occasion, it is my duty to attend you at all times."
"So you're telling me you've been secretly guarding me since the train ride?"
"That is correct."
Bayul was here as part of an official delegation. It wasn't a private errand, and he wanted to ask whether all this secrecy was truly necessary—but looking at his father's face, the question caught in his throat. His father clearly regarded the current arrangement as entirely natural.
"…Then at least give me some warning next time."
At least then he wouldn't feel quite so put out about it.
"Understood."
Ian's matter-of-fact reply was the same as ever. Yet for some reason, today a faint distance seemed to hang between them.
"So. You went to the night market."
Judging their exchange finished, the Duke moved on to the heart of the matter.
"…You heard about that?"
Ian seemed slightly flustered, but only for an instant. Like Duke Randert himself, his expressions barely ever changed.
"Every detail. Exactly as it happened."
At the Duke's command, Ian swiftly reported the circumstances of that day. At the part where Jared had abruptly ordered his knight to attack the moment he laid eyes on Bayul's group, the Duke's brow twisted with fury.
His concern for his son had been no idle fear. If it were merely a scrap between boys, then like it or not, his view was that they should be tolerated and watched—as long as no line was crossed.
But once a knight stepped in, everything changed. Bayul was his one and only successor, the heir who would carry on after him. For a sword to be raised against Bayul was, in effect, a sword raised against himself.
"The audacity…!"
Words the Duke rarely used escaped his lips—a sure sign of how deeply angry he was.
"And why was this not reported to me at once? There was certainly time enough."
It was Bayul who answered the Duke's icy question.
"That was—I asked him not to tell you."
"…You did?"
"Yes. You're already so busy, and I didn't want to burden you with something needless. I'm sorry."
"And this is a needless matter to you?"
"…No one was hurt, thanks to Sir Ian's swift action, so I thought it would be all right…"
Wilted under the Duke's hardened stare, Bayul hung his head. The father who had just called him 'my son' in front of his friends was nowhere to be found. Once again he had turned to ice, just like before. And once again, it was all because of Bayul's own mistake.
"Those men are no thugs or street ruffians. They are knights who have been formally granted titles. A knight must be just and honorable. A knight's sword exists solely for that justice and that honor, and for nothing else."
The Duke's voice had risen, edged with agitation.
"And yet the sword of a knight—who should have been all of those things—was pointed at young students. Do not blame the one who gave the order. The greatest fault lies with the knights who carried out such an absurd command. Tell me—if you had issued the same order, do you imagine Ian would have obeyed?"
No—if it were Ian, he would have refused. For a knight, following one's lord's command is a matter of honor and duty; but if that command is used to harm the weak, what is it if not a crime?
Nothing enraged the Duke more than those who used their strength to trample the defenseless.
"What if Ian hadn't been there? You—and every one of your friends—could have been badly hurt!"
The Duke didn't even want to imagine it. His son was frail enough as it was. He had sent him all the way to that distant city and spent many a sleepless night worrying—never once did it cross his mind that something this ridiculous might happen.
"This time, I will not let it pass quietly."
"…I'm sorry?"
"They ought to learn what exactly it is they did wrong, don't you think?"
And just whose son it was they had dared to lay hands on—he would make sure that was carved into their memories as well.
Duke Randert gave his order without even rising from his seat.
"Tell Hayes that I wish to see her."
"I shall have her stand by at once."
At the Duke's nod, the escort knight hurried out the door to relay the command.
"Father, what are you…?"
Hayes was a female knight whom Bayul himself knew. Though not yet known to the outside world, she possessed such extraordinary skill that she ranked among the very finest of the Full Moon Knights.
Why on earth would he be summoning her all of a sudden?
"You just watch."
When it came time to bring an opponent to heel, one had to make the gap in power unmistakably clear. Only then would they be left with no room for other thoughts.
"Ian is confined to quarters for the time being."
"Father! Sir Ian did nothing wrong. It was me who—!"
"I will follow your orders, my lord."
Bayul protested, but the two men didn't so much as blink. His father he could understand—but Ian, who had every right to resent him for this, stood at rigid attention throughout, unshaken.
"Come to think of it—I hear you collapsed yet again?"
While Bayul stood frozen, fidgeting in his guilt, the Duke abruptly raised an entirely different subject.
"Ah—yes…"
"They said you were simply tired. Are you quite well now?"
"I'm sorry for worrying you."
He had lost count of how many times he'd apologized today alone. Far from being a son to be proud of, he felt like nothing but a burden, and Bayul's conscience weighed on him yet again.
"I didn't bring that up to hear your apology. That sort of thing hasn't stopped happening lately, has it? Are you truly looking after yourself properly?"
"Priest Wagner examines me regularly. He said there's nothing wrong, so please don't worry too much."
It won't happen again. I'm not sick—it's just that I can see spirits now, and I can hear their voices.
Father, in all this time, I've become a Spirit User. Do you know what a spirit is, Father? Would it be all right—even for me, the one who must carry on our family—to be a Spirit User?
There's so much I want to say to you, so much I want to ask. But my mouth stays sealed, just as it always does.
When I have more confidence, when I'm certain—then I'll tell you. Please wait just a little longer.
To stop being the son who disappoints you, I need a little more time.
"…No other unusual incidents, then?"
"No, sir."
Why won't you tell me?
Bayul hadn't breathed a single word about the contents of the two letters received from Priest Wagner. The Duke ached to ask him outright, but with Bayul himself refusing to speak first, it was difficult to press the matter.
[I sensed in Bayul an affinity for the divine so strong as to befit a high priest.]
That was precisely what the priest's final letter had said. And it was not an affinity for the God of War, worshipped back in his homeland of Hamilton, but for the God of Despair, enshrined in the temple within the Academy itself.
There had been that fainting spell as well. What connection could that temple possibly have with his son, that such strange things kept happening around it? The Duke was afraid—afraid that the one son he had left might come to harm next.
If only the boy would pour everything out to him.
Deep worry clouded the Duke's eyes as he gazed at his son.
"Father, thank you."
Just as the silence between father and son was stretching long, Bayul abruptly offered his gratitude. Surprised by the out-of-the-blue remark, the Duke gave him a puzzled look—and Bayul, for the first time in ages, laid his heart honestly bare.
"I think coming to the Academy was the right choice. At first the classes and the dormitory life were all so unfamiliar that I panicked constantly, but now everything has become something I enjoy."
For the first time since their reunion, a smile touched Bayul's lips in front of his father.
"And the most enjoyable part of all is making friends. You saw them just now, didn't you? Besides Quinn, Rai, Aidan, and Logan, I have so many wonderful friends. It's all thanks to you that I met them."
At first he'd believed he'd only been cast out of the estate, but that no longer mattered. Bayul was content with his present life. Good friends, the path of a Spirit User, becoming a son his father could be proud of. He wanted to work hard until the day he graduated from the Academy and make all of it a reality.
"When I miss Hamilton, I look at this pendant. I don't know why, but somehow, just that gives me strength."
"You've always been that way."
Bayul's pendant. It was a memento left behind by his wife, and it never failed to set the Duke's thoughts spinning.
"I am only grateful that you treasure it so."
The thoughtfulness of a son who cherished the keepsake of a mother whose face he had never once seen was truly admirable.
"That's only natural…"
At some point, his father's voice had grown gentle once more. Warmth had returned to his eyes as well. This was the father Bayul remembered—untouched since the day Bail died.
Knock, knock.
"It's me, my lord."
Just as the air in the room had turned warm at last, a visitor arrived.