Hugo's Proposal
When had he first begun to realize that his body was no longer what it used to be?
When he allowed a beast's attack by a hair's breadth?
When the length of his sword aura fell short of what it once had been?
When, mid-battle, he felt his mana running low?
None of those.
It was when even a slight movement of his arm left his shoulder aching.
When his groin twinged every time he relieved himself.
When his night vision was no longer as sharp as before.
That was when.
In the mansion bathroom, Hugo stared at the middle-aged man in the mirror with complicated feelings.
The wrinkles on his face deepened by the day, and his forehead had widened until it could no longer hold any hair at all. What little remained had gone gray in patches—enough that his wife, Eldrina, had even recommended a dyeing spell.
"It's true…"
He was not the man he used to be.
He did not say it aloud, but Hugo knew he had to start accepting that fact.
The old routine of rising before dawn to temper his inner arts was long gone. In its place was only the habit of waking because the morning sun stung his eyes.
And yet—
As a father, as the pillar of the household, Hugo did not want to show weakness to the children returning from their coming-of-age ceremonies. He wanted to remain a reliable support, at least until they could stand on their own.
Razor in hand, Hugo carefully shaved his rough stubble. Scritch— scritch— The ticklish sensation continued until the foam was wiped away and a clean jawline emerged.
After that, everything proceeded smoothly. Eldrina steered him into the dressing room, where he put on a formal uniform tailored by their exclusive clothier.
Between the glossy black collar, a necktie as red as his hair was knotted by Eldrina's graceful hands.
Lastly, having slicked his hair with pomade and made himself as presentable as possible, Hugo looked down at his still-beloved wife.
"……How do I look?"
"How do you look? You already know exactly what I'm going to say."
Instead of answering, Eldrina kissed her husband's lips.
There was a considerable age gap between them, and she was no longer young herself. Yet Eldrina's beauty had barely changed from the days when they had whispered their love to each other at the height of their passion.
"Handsome, dependable, and the most lovable man in the world."
"……Ahem. Good to hear."
The shamelessly affectionate whisper sent a shiver down his spine.
Hugo finished by picking up a hat to cover his increasingly bare scalp, then left the mansion. He needed no escort or companion. According to Eldrina, the airship would arrive around noon; if he took a carriage now, he would reach the landing platform at just the right time.
Come to think of it, it's been nearly six years since I last saw Shiron.
Gooooh—
Arriving at the platform, Hugo looked up at the airship that had just docked. Suddenly the face of his nephew—who, in some ways, was not entirely unlike his own father—rose in his mind.
He had heard that Shiron had finished his studies in Lucerne and earned his priestly ordination… Achieving that alone in a distant foreign land, without relying on anyone—setting aside his position as an elder of the family, a swell of pride began to fill Hugo's heart.
"Oh…"
In the distance, a black-haired young man came into view. Their eyes met, and they smiled at each other. Hugo was certain the youth walking down the gangway was Shiron.
"Hm?"
Before long, however, the smile faded from Hugo's face. What had been hard to make out at a distance grew steadily clearer.
His one and only daughter—Siriel, already fully grown, yet still the apple of his eye—was clinging tightly to Shiron's side.
But that was not the problem. Hugo was a proper noble even without a territory of his own, and he had enough generosity to regard that much as nothing more than the closeness of a fond older brother and younger sister.
The problem was…
"That's weird. How can you still be this wrecked when you took motion sickness medicine?"
"…I don't know either."
"Is that bastard a quack? Come to think of it, charging five thousand shillings for two days' worth of motion sickness medicine is pretty suspicious too."
—the fact that Shiron's gaze kept lingering on Lucia.
Of course, Hugo could not take issue with that behavior and demand an explanation. The niece leaning on Shiron's support looked distinctly unwell, and Siriel, practically linking arms with him on the other side, did not seem particularly bothered by what Shiron was doing.
But the human heart is not a rational thing—that is why the word subjective exists. Hugo clenched his fist tight and faced the youth among the approaching children—the young man who had already grown so much that no trace of boyhood remained.
"Geez. You didn't have to come meet us. You could've just waited at the mansion."
Shiron bowed his head with a bright smile.
"…Shiron."
"Yes, Uncle. It's me, Shiron. Don't tell me you don't recognize me?"
"Right. You've grown so much I almost didn't."
"I startle myself every morning when I wake up too. I'm not even twenty yet, and this mug already looks so old—what a joke."
"Indeed. Some ruffian was walking around with my daughters on his arms. I nearly punched him."
"…Pardon?"
For a moment Shiron wondered if he had misheard. Punch him? Who? Surely not me?
"Father, really. Why are you fretting over Oppa first?"
Siriel ran forward and threw herself into Hugo's arms.
"Aren't you being a little too neglectful of your one and only daughter?"
"Siriel… you've grown so much while I wasn't looking too. And Lucia…"
"I trust you have been well, Uncle."
Lucia clutched her queasy stomach and bowed at the waist. As she did, Hugo's gaze caught the object strapped to her back.
…What's that?
Most of it was hidden by the scabbard, so he could not see its full form, but Hugo's eye alone told him from the protruding hilt that the sword Lucia carried was no ordinary piece.
"Lucia. What is that on your back? I don't see the black iron sword you always used to carry."
"Ah. This."
As Hugo's interest fixed on the Holy Sword, color bloomed in Lucia's face. As if she had secretly wanted to show off her newly acquired blade to someone else, she lifted Sirius for Hugo to see.
"It's called a Holy Sword."
"…A Holy Sword?"
"Yes. I hear it comes with the grand condition that only those with the proper qualifications can wield it—and it's definitely a fine sword. Would you like to try holding it?"
Lucia held out the hilt toward Hugo, inviting him to take it.
Ordinarily, for a warrior to entrust their own sword to another was an act worthy of censure—but Lucia trusted Hugo Prien's character, and deep down she wanted someone else to recognize how magnificent her sword was.
"How is it?"
"…A splendid sword."
That was no lie.
A Holy Sword was the kind of blade only the family head could possess—the very thing Hugo had once so desperately longed to become. He had never dreamed he would hold one when he was nearly fifty.
And so a natural question rose in Hugo's mind.
…Why is Lucia carrying this?
Looking back and forth between Lucia's shining eyes and the Holy Sword, Hugo suddenly felt as if the breath had been knocked from his chest.
Just as two suns could not exist in the sky, two heads could not exist in one house. The fact that his niece held a sword only the family head was permitted to bear led him, almost inevitably, toward a certain possibility. Glenn's death. His father's words—that those of the Prien line carried a heavy fate.
"…"
Hugo tipped his head back toward the sky.
"Uncle?"
"Come… let us hurry home."
Had he not always found his younger brother so disagreeable? The mere possibility that Glenn was already dead and he would never see him again sent a wave of grief crashing over him that he could not hold back.
It did not take long for Hugo's misunderstanding to be corrected.
"…Glenn isn't dead?"
"Why are you killing off a perfectly healthy man? Father is alive."
"Ahem. I see."
"We ate together, bathed together… anyway, Father is perfectly fine and alive. When we parted, we even shared a warm family embrace."
"No, well. Shiron. The reason I called you here is, ah, that… thing…"
He hurried to change the subject to forget his embarrassment, but it did not go as well as he hoped. Hugo had told so few lies in his life that he could count them on one hand; his face was paper-thin.
Shiron set a cup of tea before his thoroughly flustered uncle.
"Thank you."
Hugo drained the cup in one go and let out a manly sigh.
"Shiron."
"Yes. Go ahead."
"The reason I called you here is none other than this. I have a few proposals for you."
Hugo drew a blue envelope from his coat.
"What's this?"
"An invitation to a court banquet that will be held before long."
A court banquet? They had those here? More importantly, why send an invitation to someone who wasn't even a noble?
"May I open it?"
"Of course. It's addressed to you, after all."
"…Who sent it?"
"The Third Prince, Viktor."
"…"
Goosebumps rose on Shiron's arms. Hugo continued speaking to the frozen young man.
"You know. I heard the two of you used to spend a great deal of time together here when you were children. Surely you haven't forgotten already?"
"I could never forget. I was just a little startled."
Shiron scrubbed at the arm that had broken out in gooseflesh beneath his sleeve.
Viktor, that bastard—was he actually gay?
Shiron swallowed a low groan and bowed his head.
Deducing that Viktor was homosexual had never been particularly difficult. There were the letters he sent once a month. And the way he had come over to play every single day even after how cruelly Shiron had treated him as a child.
Shiron had slapped Viktor across the face at eleven. At eleven, political awareness meant nothing; personal feelings came first—it was a foolish age.
After openly humiliating him, Shiron had suggested they get along—but looking back, that had been an impossible starting point for any real friendship. The more he thought about it, the more insane it seemed that Viktor had casually kept visiting the mansion after that as if nothing had happened.
—I-I already have a fiancée I'm promised to marry! Something so horrible as…!
Was she even a real fiancée to begin with?
Shiron suspected Viktor's desperate excuses were merely an imperial measure to secure an heir.
Suddenly, a memory from his previous life surfaced.
During evening self-study, stuck at school under the pretext of independent study, Yura had struck up a conversation as usual.
—Hyunjun, look at this.
—What?
—According to this stat, gay guys and straight guys go for slightly different ideal types. Isn't that interesting?
—…I'm trying to solve problems here.
—Huh? Just look at it for a second. Like, more overflowing with male hormones than the delicate pretty-boy type…
—Ah, just go away!
I'm not exactly pretty-boy handsome, but I do look like something…
"Do I absolutely have to go?"
"Why not?"
"Well. It's a bit… uncomfortable."
"A shame. If I go to the banquet alone, I won't really have anyone I'm close with…"
"I'll go."
"Thank you."
A warm smile settled on Hugo's lips. It felt, somehow, as if he had gained a dependable son. Hugo was beginning to like Shiron more and more.
"My other business is a personal proposal of my own."
"What is it?"
When Shiron asked back, Hugo drew another sheet of paper from his coat. His seal was stamped upon it.
"Would you care to accompany me on the next expedition?"
Hugo made the proposal with care.