Chapter 20
Chapter 20
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 20
Chapter Title: Blank Pages
-----------------------------------------------------------------
He closed the door and turned around to find Marie standing right in front of him.
“Shall I take your cloak?”
He removed his cloak and handed it to her. Marie folded it carefully, as if handling a precious artifact, and held it close to her chest.
“Have you decided where you’ll be staying?”
“I was thinking of booking a room at a nearby inn.”
“In that case, allow me to escort you to the inn we operate. It’s right upstairs, so you won’t be inconvenienced.”
“Thank you for your thoughtfulness.”
Marie bowed lightly at the waist and led the way. As they crossed the hall, they drew covert glances not only from the male guests but from the female ones as well.
“I don’t usually attend to guests personally, so everyone’s staring out of curiosity.”
“I can understand that. Though it seems the women are staring more boldly than the men. Especially that young lady in red over there—she’s glaring at me like she wants to kill me.”
“She’s a cute one. A bold girl who doesn’t hide her affection for me.”
“It looks like I’ve earned her dislike.”
“It’s just a child’s jealousy, so try to find it endearing.”
With Marie’s guidance, they headed upstairs. The man introduced as the guest room manager opened the door to the left of the counter. As he and Marie stepped into the corridor, the manager closed the door behind them.
“You won’t run into any regular guests here. This is a floor we manage specially.”
“You’ve put a lot of effort into this.”
The imperial palace was a place where works by renowned artists gathered. Whether he was interested or not, art pieces had caught his eye over the years, giving him a fair appreciation for them.
The murals adorning the short corridor’s walls and ceiling were, by his modest judgment, exceptionally fine. At the same time, they felt familiar.
Scattered clouds painted in a spray, sleek leaf shapes. Even the overall color palette.
“His Majesty the Emperor painted them himself. In just one day. We were all quite shocked.”
“So the Emperor stayed here.”
“About two years ago. He visited right when the laboratory downstairs was completed. And he came with just a single attendant. Our perpetually cheerful boss had wrinkles on his brow that day like never before.”
Marie opened the door to the room. It was simply furnished. A bed, a table, and a small bookshelf with a few volumes—that was all.
A sword lay on the table. Marie set the cloak down and lifted the sword with both hands.
“The political officer instructed us to prepare this. He said you might need it.”
Unlike the joking remark about offering a ceremonial sword, it had already been prepared.
He thought it fitting for someone who served the Emperor at such close quarters. The Ladder Political Officer was the type to prepare not just from one to ten, but eleven just in case.
He gripped the sword Marie handed him. It felt good in his hand. A rough blade equipped with only the essentials.
He lightly pressed his thumb against the blade and slid it along. The edge was sharp, the resilience satisfying. It was well-maintained.
“Please tell Bank that I’m very pleased with it.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“If you need anything, just pull the cord,” Marie said before stepping out. Before closing the door, she pressed her hand to her chest in lieu of a bow, clasped her hands behind her back, and saluted crisply.
“It was an honor to serve you personally, Supreme Commander.”
“So Bank told you.”
“Yes. He said it would be better for me to know.”
“The title of Supreme Commander is a burden now. It belongs to the dead. Just call me Lander.”
“If that’s more comfortable for you, I understand. Sir Lander.”
“Thank you, Marie.”
Marie smiled and closed the door. He kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the bed. A subtle fragrance wafted from the bedding, easing his tension.
He let out a deep sigh.
Over the past few months, he had faithfully lived as Lander. No one recognized him, nor did he need to be recognized—a mere common citizen.
There were comforts and discomforts. He appreciated moving without a secretary or aide, but their absence caused inconveniences.
Even those had become familiar now. Lying in bed alone, eating alone, strolling alone—he had grown accustomed to it long ago.
He pulled his wife’s diary from his breast pocket. Despite careful handling, the leather cover had cracked. Flipping past the cover revealed one of her drawings.
A crude sketch that even a three-year-old might have done better. She was versatile in many ways, but drawing was not her talent.
Lacking talent, she obsessed over it all the more, yet her skill never improved. Guiding her in art was one of the few things the Emperor had declared a lost cause.
“This is me, and this is you.”
Her voice echoed vividly, as if whispered in his ear. It was a picture that made him smile every time. He slowly turned the pages.
His wife’s diary followed a format like a recorder’s log. Starting with the day’s weather, it noted the first scent encountered and the first object that caught her eye.
“It was raining, and for some reason, there was a melon scent. My husband, lying there, had his brow deeply furrowed. Was he having a bad dream?”
He murmured the diary’s opening passage, which he had recited countless times and could now recall without looking.
He savored the words slowly, like cherished fruit. Page after page. When he turned another worn corner, it happened.
He faced a blank sheet of paper. A stark white wall protruding amid the densely written entries. It was the color signaling the start of events, the paragraph heralding the collapse of normalcy.
His fingers stiffened. The fragrance that had relaxed him now felt like nauseating stench. He didn’t want to turn the page.
He was afraid. It was a terror he had confronted many times, yet it remained as daunting as ever. Facing the enemy in a besieged fortress cut off from supplies would have been easier.
He turned the page. Another blank sheet greeted him. He pressed his middle finger to the paper and gently pulled. His wife’s handwriting appeared.
- Don’t forget. Hus Bellu Sant. That’s the man’s name. Never forget. His eyebrows, his eyes, his nose, his mouth. You mustn’t forget. Absolutely. My eternal partner, eternal friend, eternal love. My husband’s name is Hus Bellu Sant. Never forget. You mustn’t forget.
Her famously elegant script grew messier by the line. At some point, it became nearly illegible. Don’t forget, remember, don’t cry, smile, you can do it, don’t give up.
Pages filled with such words followed, then another white wall appeared. Holding his breath, he lifted the next sheet.
- I’m sorry.
That was his wife’s final writing. “I’m sorry,” he muttered the words countless times before closing the diary.
He guessed it was written in a moment when memory briefly returned. The first time he opened the diary after her death, he couldn’t tear his eyes from those last words.
The one who should apologize is me, not her.
He had thought it endlessly. If only he had returned to her side sooner, learned of her illness earlier, searched harder for a cure.
But he knew well that attaching “if only” to the past was the height of folly.
He had been educated that way, and the late Grand Duke had emphasized it many times. One of the demons that corrupts humanity is named “if only.”
He sat on the edge of the bed. His stirred emotions settled quickly. Even on the day of her funeral, and after, no tears had come.
He was sick of himself. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel grief. An unbearable sorrow swirled within. He wanted to smash his head against the ground and wail.
Yet when hot emotions surged, his honed reason suppressed them. He watched himself hesitate on the verge of tears, exhale raggedly several times, then calm and compose himself.
This is the kind of person I’ve become. This is all I can manage.
It was then that he resolved to discard his name. Leaving the Holy City without her, following her traces to the places she longed to visit—perhaps even his mechanical reason would change.
Perhaps then he could weep freely. Perhaps then he could better understand the “I’m sorry” she left at the end.
He wanted to leave immediately, but there were matters to settle. For a year, he tackled the Emperor’s assignments, often showing the bureaucrats a blood-spewing effort.
So that dying young wouldn’t seem strange. It was his final consideration for the Emperor.
Knock knock. The sound pulled him from the swamp of reverie. Lander called out to the door. Come in.
“I’m sorry to disturb you while you’re resting.”
“No, it’s fine. What is it?”
“The young lady from House Tian asked me to deliver this. Apparently, some people from that side saw you entering the village. I couldn’t keep refusing a First-Class Noble, so I brought it despite knowing it’s presumptuous.”
Marie handed him an envelope sealed with House Tian’s crest.
“You’ve had a hard time because of me.”
He immediately tore open the envelope. The polite letter began with formal greetings and ended with another request to accept their invitation.
“Did Ariel ask you to deliver it personally?”
“Yes. She’s waiting outside right now.”
“She takes after her father, knocking on the door first and seeing what happens.”
He stood, attaching the scabbard to his harness. He draped the cloak over his shoulders and stepped out. Marie followed.
“Shall I accompany you?”
Marie asked. Lander shook his head lightly and walked down the corridor. At the end, the guest room manager opened the door on cue.
“She’s waiting on the first floor.”
“Understood.”
He turned, giving Marie and the manager a nod, then descended the stairs. Ariel and Willett were on the first floor.
“I’m sorry about earlier. For pressing you like that.”
Ariel said.
“It’s fine now that you won’t do it again. More importantly, you said there’s something you wanted to hear from me.”
“Yes. It’s awkward standing here talking, so shall we move somewhere else?”
“Certainly.”
They changed venues to a nearby shop. No other customers were present. Escort soldiers stood guard outside the window.
“I didn’t notice at first when I came here, but following you, Sir Lander, I learned something. People are moving under someone’s direction. What’s certain is that the someone isn’t the lord.”
“If you’re asking about the territory, I have nothing to tell you. I’m an outsider too. And please, use the informal address.”
Ariel nodded, pursing her lips.
“Got it, Lander.”
She took a small breath before speaking.
“I have too many questions to ask, but if I voice them, you’ll probably get up and leave right now, so just one. Those words about choosing survival over honor—what state of mind was my father in when he said that?”
“It’s not about state of mind; it’s based on field manuals. You must have seen them at Schola too.”
“I did. But Father never said anything like that to me. On the contrary, he told me that a glorious end is the role of those born as Tian.”
“That may also be a valid choice.”
“The two can’t coexist. Dying honorably or surviving ignobly. What did Father want from me?”
“What have you lived for until now, my lady?”
“I’ve lived solely for the name of Tian.”
“Then you know better than I do. I’m merely passing on what I heard; I can’t provide answers. Even if I did, unless you accept it, it wouldn’t be an answer for you.”
“That’s why I’m grasping at straws like this.”
Ariel brushed back her disheveled hair. Unlike her resolute gaze, her eyes wavered.
She resembled her father in appearance but not in substance. Young and immature. That’s why she was lost.
Recalling his senior’s request to help his daughter just once, Lander said,
“You said Legion Commander passed from a sudden illness.”
“Yes.”
“Was it truly an illness?”
(To be continued)