Chapter 1
Chapter 1
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: A Hero's Farewell
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Preparations seemed complete, so Arlen Barbe double-checked his uniform for any wrinkles before stepping out of the room.
It was a day when no mistakes could be tolerated. A blunder at a war hero's retirement ceremony? The mere thought was horrifying.
"Are you inside?"
Arlen asked the Recorder standing in front of the office.
"Yes."
"How did he seem? In good spirits?"
"He always looks cheerful. He greeted me with a smile and headed into the office."
"That's a relief."
Arlen straightened his collar once more and positioned himself in front of the door. Even after a year of serving under him, facing his superior still filled him with tension.
It was unavoidable—the man beyond that door had put an end to fifteen years of war.
"Did he cough this morning?"
Arlen asked the Recorder before knocking.
"It's gotten worse than before."
Arlen let out a small sigh. Rumors were circulating.
The war hero was coughing up blood.
Arlen had tried every time he heard the whispers to track down their source, but rumors being what they were, no one admitted to spreading them—they just floated in the air.
"What did the healer say?"
"They examined him but found nothing unusual."
"And the cathedral?"
"They're combining prayers with healing magic, but there's still no improvement."
"Same story every time."
It was heartbreaking. The hero who had returned from the front lines was now plagued by an illness of unknown origin. Whether it stemmed from nature, magic, or a curse—no one could say.
The 2nd Bureau had exhausted every avenue, but to no avail. All they had were lukewarm reports vaguely implicating the Allied Kingdom—useless intel.
The watch hanging around the Recorder's neck chimed. It was time to move. Arlen pushed aside his scattered thoughts and focused on the man beyond the door.
He raised his hand and lightly knocked.
"It's Arlen. May I come in?"
There was no response. Perhaps he was leaning back in his chair, eyes closed for a moment. Arlen waited, then knocked again. Two raps. Still, silence.
This was unusual. The man had sharp ears—he always replied to two knocks. "Come in" or "It's open."
Arlen glanced at the Recorder. The Recorder stared at the door in confusion, then his expression turned grave. Suddenly, an incident from two months ago flashed in Arlen's mind: the Commander collapsing in a seizure.
"I'm opening it."
He grabbed the handle and shoved with all his might. The door wasn't locked and swung open easily. A simple office with a desk, a sofa beside it, and an old bookshelf—that was all. But the Commander of the Imperial Knights, the office's master, was nowhere to be seen.
Arlen frantically scanned the empty room.
The impeccably tidy desk kept drawing his eye.
* * *
"By now, the head of the 2nd Bureau must be in quite a shock."
"You could've at least said goodbye. He's been by your side ever since you returned to the Holy City."
Ardhen turned his head to gaze at the distant spire piercing the sky. With the retirement ceremony's star guest vanished, a quiet stir was surely brewing.
He pictured bureaucrats, led by the 2nd Bureau chief, combing every corner of the Imperial Palace. A wry smile crossed his lips.
"Something amusing?"
His friend standing before him asked. Ardhen crossed his arms and replied.
"Amusing? Of course it is. The man who should be at his retirement ceremony is right in front of me—how could anything be more entertaining? And in a few days, I have to officially announce your death. That's entertaining too."
His friend nodded. A thick travel cloak, practical vest, and worn boots that held no trace of style. Hardly the attire befitting the Commander of the Imperial Knights.
"You're not even wearing the medal I awarded you."
Ardhen eyed the sword at his friend's waist. The imperial emblem that should adorn the pommel was missing. His friend covered the sword with his cloak and said.
"It's no use to a dead man. I've sorted my study for you. Makes the funeral easier."
"Clean exit, as always."
"That's my one redeeming quality."
His friend pulled up his hood. He looked neither relieved in discarding honor and position nor reluctant to leave. Just a traveler departing an inn after a brief stay.
"Couldn't you stay?"
Ardhen met his friend's eyes.
"Do you really want me to?"
His friend smiled faintly as he asked. Ardhen said nothing.
"We've grown too old to charge ahead thoughtlessly, too young to embrace and endure everything together."
His friend said.
"Thirty-five. What an awkward age."
"You know better than anyone, Your Majesty, that we can't return to those days when I was a naive knight cadet and you an impulsive 4th Imperial Prince."
His friend spoke formally. Ardhen uncrossed his arms and nodded. A tangle of emotions churned within him.
Sadness, regret, longing. But the final one lingering near his heart was relief. The man he most wanted close, yet needed farthest away.
"Lord Jun once said in our lessons: To a precarious ruler, a hero is medicine; to a secure one, poison."
"He did."
"My medicine has turned to poison, so I humbly take my leave."
His friend bowed deeply, then straightened. His eyes stared straight at Ardhen without a flicker.
In the Holy City—no, in the entire empire—only this friend could meet the Emperor's gaze head-on.
"One final plea to Your Majesty."
"Anything but my throne."
"If possible, place my grave opposite my wife's. She hated being lonely. Even just facing each other in death might offer her some solace."
"So be it."
"Thank you."
"Nothing else?"
"No."
"After all we've been through, that's a remarkably modest send-off."
Ardhen glanced at the sky before speaking.
"I'm sorry."
A phrase he had never uttered once since ascending the throne. He made no mistakes worth regretting. But to his friend, no other words would suffice.
"Your gracious release humbles me."
His friend replied.
"I have no desire to fight a losing battle. Especially not with my neck on the line."
He had often imagined it: that unassuming sword at his friend's waist flying toward his throat.
In his imaginings, he didn't even struggle as his head fell. Utterly futile, empty, terrifying.
That's why, when his friend declared he'd abandon everything—even his name—he didn't stop him.
He didn't even ask why. He simply swallowed his gratitude, relief, pettiness, and shame in silence.
"The moment you leave, the empire will etch all your achievements into history. Monuments will rise, statues too. That's the surest way to cement your death."
"Do as Your Majesty decrees. I will live no longer by that name."
"Even if you return, the empire—I—will not acknowledge you. We'll brand you a fraud and swindler, ensuring your glorious name stays unstained."
"So be it."
"You're truly casting it all aside?"
His friend chuckled.
"Fear not, Your Majesty. My ambitions lie elsewhere."
His friend's gaze swept over the Holy City before returning.
"Farewell. Your other friend must be bored."
His friend glanced at the Guardian Knight standing a short distance away. There was no hesitation in his turning steps. Ardhen called out to his retreating back one last time.
"What do you plan to do as a wanderer?"
"For now, see the world. Places my wife longed to visit, places marked here—I'll go to them all."
A book was in his friend's hand: his wife's diary, one of her relics.
"And after?"
"I'll seek her homeland once I've wandered enough. Things to deliver, too."
"And when that's done?"
"Who knows."
"You, acting without a plan? Unbelievable."
His friend smiled.
"If you truly have nowhere left... come back. By then, I'll have become a vessel to hold you."
"I'll consider it."
A single smile, a nod. That was the end. As his friend took five or six steps away, the Guardian Knight approached.
"You're letting him go just like that?"
Ardhen glanced sidelong at him. Taine Ochen. Born and bred in the Holy City, a sword genius far beyond "excellent."
A knight who could stand against the swordsmen of the First-Class Nobles. Ardhen understood the young knight's competitive fire and political concerns—he was to fill his friend's vacancy.
"And if I don't?"
"He's dangerous. He could rally forces in the borderlands and march on the Holy City."
"Rally forces in the borderlands? That friend of mine?"
Ardhen laughed. Taine was clever, his mind as sharp as his blade. He grasped situations swiftly and delivered optimal results—a reliable aide.
But he lacked one thing: understanding power beyond comprehension.
"Hus!"
Ardhen shouted his friend's name—the name he'd never utter again. His friend halted.
"I need to use you once more. To teach my new aide a lesson."
"What lesson?"
"Overwhelming force. The utter helplessness it brings."
"He's capable enough. Is it necessary? Words would suffice."
"Knowing and internalizing are different, as Lord Jun said."
"Indeed."
"Will you grant my shameless final request?"
"As a friend?"
"Yes."
His friend turned, slowly drew his sword, and looked at Taine.
"Then I can't refuse."
His friend said casually.
Ardhen saw Taine's forehead twitch. His thoughts were transparent: A war hero daring to duel the Emperor? Admirable loyalty.
"Taine."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"They called you invincible at Schola."
"An exaggeration."
"No exaggeration. No cadet there could match you blow for blow."
"My sword is for Your Majesty. Breaking is unthinkable."
"Right. A sword for me. Unbreakable."
Ardhen nodded toward Taine.
"Then learn. What it means to break."
Taine lunged the instant the words ended.
He charged, drew his sword, and thrust.
That was it.
Ardhen looked up. The halved blade arced through the air and clattered to the ground.
His friend stood unmoved; Taine had recoiled as swiftly as he'd advanced.
Ardhen walked over slowly and stood beside Taine, who knelt on one knee. A pale face marked by a single red line. Ardhen placed a hand on his shoulder and patted it.
"Don't despair or revere that friend. Trying to comprehend the incomprehensible breeds only fear. Like me."
Taine looked up with trembling eyes, then bowed his head. Ardhen called to his friend.
"You've discarded Hus, so you'll live by a new name. What is it?"
"That too remains to be decided."
"A journey with nothing set in stone."
"A path without safeguards."
Ardhen nodded and said.
"Stay well."
"I will."
Ardhen clasped his hands behind his back and turned. Taine followed. He didn't look back. Nor did his friend.
"Aide."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"We'll be busy. Have to collect the heads of those Tulip bastards who tried to enthrone Hus in my stead."
The war was over, the hero gone. His absence would bring great sorrow, but a master politician could quell it.
When the grief faded and the hero's tale filled but a page in history books, he would invite the hero he'd sent off with peace of mind to his private chambers.
"Thank you, my friend."
He murmured softly, eyes forward.
(To be continued)