The North: Blood or Wine (028)
The corridors of the Hiatt Grand Duke Estate twisted like a labyrinth, most of them indistinguishable in shape and form. It was all too easy to lose one's bearings while walking absentmindedly, as if truly lost in a maze.
Selasier navigated these halls with effortless grace. Whether she had a map etched into her mind or some innate sense, she strolled with her hands clasped behind her back, never hesitating for a moment.
"Kalen, there won't be any reckless brawls like you might imagine. That's for others to handle."
"So, I just need to stay by your side?"
"Exactly. The factions are tied up on the front lines for now. There might be an all-out clash at a decisive moment, but until then, we must fulfill the Hiatt family's duty."
The Hiatt family ruled the north. Bearing the title of Grand Duke, their position demanded they protect the northern people. This was directly tied to victory in the civil war. A ruler who couldn't safeguard their own was needless, so they had to win hearts before any fatal opening appeared.
It wasn't for nothing that Selasier had called the estate safe.
"Still, with all sorts of schemes brewing behind the scenes, I need a bodyguard. Got it?"
"Yes."
"We've only met occasionally until now, but things have gotten dicey lately. Anything else you want to ask?"
"No."
"Hmm..."
Selasier, walking ahead of Kalen, unclasped her hands and glanced back over her shoulder with a sidelong look.
"Cold men aren't popular up north, you know."
Her elegantly curved eyes flashed like rubies.
"Are you upset that I tricked you into coming?"
"No, it's not that."
"Ah, so you're just naturally chilly?"
She covered her mouth and laughed softly, as if finding it endlessly amusing.
"Anyway, I'll handle all the complicated stuff like the civil war. You just protect me, Kalen."
"Miss."
Selasier turned forward again and took the lead. Kalen watched her back and asked,
"May I ask one thing?"
"Didn't you say there was nothing?"
"..."
"Kidding~. What is it?"
There was one thing Kalen couldn't comprehend. She'd mentioned Craderus, Makbel, even factions. Yet she entrusted her personal protection to him, a total stranger. It was the same puzzle as their first meeting.
Selasier had politely refused back then, but Kalen asked once more.
"At least there's Sir Craderus. Why choose me specifically?"
"Oh dear, now you're being clingy."
"No—"
"Because there's no one I can trust."
"...Enough to trust a complete stranger like me?"
"Yes. All that talk of factions and loyalty is just empty words."
Selasier walked ahead, her expression hidden from view.
"The forces we've painstakingly gathered are just a bunch of opportunists waiting to see who wins. Sir Craderus? Well, I'm not so sure."
"He's surely more reliable than I am."
"You think I never had people I considered 'mine'? Of course there were those I thought close enough for protection."
Selasier took a steadying breath before continuing.
"But there weren't. I won't go into details—it's a long story—just know that."
Without turning, she raised her left hand and extended her index finger, like Blamia teaching Sinat magic.
"I'm in such a bind that a stranger feels more trustworthy. That's all you need to know."
Was she saying those she trusted had betrayed her? With the family head turning a blind eye to the civil war, it made sense. Unless one aimed for the top, siding with the winner was natural. Picking the wrong side could mean death. Those with responsibilities had to be cautious, and as caution grew, alliances frayed. Relationships without trust were riddled with vulnerabilities.
Kalen stared at Selasier's now-silent back. Though the circumstances differed, was she lonely too? Knowing how devastating that distant emotion could be, he couldn't look away.
That sentiment had led him to accept her proposal, but it was still a civil war. Had Selasier chosen isolation amid the strife, or been swept up in an unwanted storm? He needed to know.
"Always lost in thought like that?"
"Ah, sorry. Did you call me?"
"No, you looked so serious I couldn't interrupt."
Her refined voice was indeed pleasant, snapping Kalen from his reverie instantly.
"I called to tell you to snap out of it. You accepted, so you're my bodyguard now. Can't zone out with enemies around."
"Enemies?"
"Where we're headed—the dining hall."
Come to think of it, she'd only told him to get up and follow. Kalen hadn't known the destination.
"We're eating with that trash of a brother and Father, so stay sharp. If I get poisoned and collapse, you're the only one to protect me."
She spoke of threats to her life so casually. That was Selasier—flawlessly considering every possibility. Poison at dinner. Assassination attempts in the estate. Even betrayal from supposed allies.
"Let's go. We're here."
Selasier knocked on the ornate door that appeared, then flung it open boldly.
Indeed. Was this loneliness a monster she'd invited, or an unavoidable trial for survival? It remained uncertain.
Kalen let out a faint sigh and steeled himself. He'd soon know what choice to make.
"You're late."
A chill permeated the dining hall. At the head of the table sat a man one might call a giant. People often likened influential figures or untouchable experts to giants. But here, it fit perfectly—not just in name, but in sheer physical enormity.
Azkal Hiatt. The giant who ruled the north.
"Hmph. At least some manners remain. You've truly become a nobody."
Despite being a man, his voice was somewhat high-pitched. The young man beside the head seat chimed in.
"Is that something to say to the one who forced those manners into you, brother?"
"Enough. Sit down."
Selasier shot back familiarly and took the seat across from the young man. Calling him "brother" meant he was Torun Hiatt, the eldest son of the Hiatt family.
Kalen roughly gauged the room and positioned himself behind Selasier.
"Hm?"
Torun Hiatt paused mid-bite into a large salmon, his brow twitching.
"Who's this?"
"My bodyguard, brother."
"Bodyguard?"
"Someone's been losing sleep over who?"
"Always flapping your mouth... Never seen this face before."
Clink. He set down the salmon and crossed his arms, eyes fixed on Kalen.
"What's it to you?"
"As your big brother, I need to check if you've brought in some weirdo."
To casual ears, it sounded like affectionate sibling banter—especially Torun's words to Selasier. But Kalen, knowing the truth, heard it differently. An outsider like him was naturally suspect.
"See me after."
Torun pointed his salmon-speared fork at Kalen, then shoved it into his mouth. Juice dribbling from his lips wasn't a pretty sight.
"He's my bodyguard."
Torun was nonchalant; Selasier was not. This wasn't their first such exchange.
"Torun has a point, Selasier."
Grand Duke Azkal, who had watched silently, added his weight. Even Selasier faltered briefly, her subdued voice responding. After that, only the sound of chewing filled the room—no further words.
It seemed meals like this were mere show.
And Kalen, observing it all, thought,
'I see.'
He understood Selasier's claim that the Grand Duke ignored the civil war. It was illogical. A civil war aimed to seize the Grand Duke's seat; the duke himself would be the first target once it ended. Naturally stronger, he couldn't lack vigilance—but politics complicated it. No good came from admitting a child coveted his throne.
In conclusion, Selasier was blocking Torun's succession. From the conversation, Azkal openly favored Torun.
'Power-hungry, is he?' Or some other reason? Unclear, but with things as they were, Kalen had to help Selasier. Only then could the Hiatts play their role in reviving the Dranus family.
His deliberation was brief; action swift. He still lacked full grasp of her loneliness's roots or the exact dynamics. But helping her was beneficial. With that clear, no other motive arose.
"No."
The voice shattered the quiet meal. Torun froze mid-salmon bite. Selasier reacted similarly.
"...What?"
"My contract is with the miss. No orders to obey the young master."
Calm tone, no tremor.
"Talking back to me?"
"Yes."
Torun stiffened momentarily. Absurd words halt the mind. He'd never expected a mere bodyguard to retort—or voice opinions.
Contract with Selasier? So what? He outranked her.
"Have you lost your mind?"
"About what?"
"Ignoring me because your contract's with Selasier? No thought to the difference in station?"
Unable to hide his agitation, Torun shot to his feet. His expensive chair toppled with a crash.
"A woman, wielding magic not a sword. My mere sister Selasier—and you'll heed her?"
"Why get so worked up?"
"It's ridiculous! When a higher master appears, you grovel accordingly!"
Kalen listened impassively, then let out a soft scoff. Torun, witnessing the audacity, grew more furious. Hard to believe this hothead was a Grand Duke's heir—so frivolously light against his burdens, it was laughable.
"Can't you tell from that wench's hair?!"
Torun bellowed, pointing at Selasier's wine-red locks. Kalen glanced at her. As Torun harped on her hair, Selasier flinched slightly.
"That ominous red hair—like blood! Don't you know how northerners revile blood? And she has eyes to match!"
Torun ranted cheap insults. Kalen slowly eyed Selasier's hair. Craderus had mentioned northern culture when fetching him.
Was her red—like the blood Torun screamed about—taboo here? Kalen tilted his head slightly. As a non-northerner, he couldn't grasp it.
"Blood?"
"Yes! That ominous...!"
"Doesn't look that way to me."
What irked him most was Torun's attitude. Even Kalen's calm nature drew the line at such arrogance.
"To me, it's a pretty wine color."
Selasier jolted sharply at his words.
"What...!"
"And you said 'contracted master'?"
Kalen itched to crush this arrogant fool with magic. Barely acquainted, every gesture reeked; no desire for civil talk.
But the Grand Duke was the issue. Northern-style sword mastery aside, Azkal Hiatt wielded magic at a masterful level. Weakest mage among the four family heads, yet his blade fusion elevated him beyond.
Kalen had questioned the "ignoring the civil war" claim—it meant overlooking mutual provocations. Not blindly charging Torun.
Unclear where the line lay, directly subduing him magically was impossible. Words to crush his pride remained.
"My contract with the miss? No—it's with Grand Archmage Blamia."
"..."
"Blamia Dranus. He sent me as her bodyguard."
Kalen stared steadily at Torun. The heir's bombast vanished; mulling Blamia's name, his face paled.
"N-no way... a Grand Archmage on your side..."
As trembling Torun tried to speak—
"Gr..."
A low, rasping sound echoed. It swelled into a rumble, then a roar.
"Krahaha!!!!"
All eyes turned. At the head, Azkal gripped his fork and knife, laughing uproariously.
"Ha..."
After long peals, Azkal regained composure.
"You're Kalen, eh?"
His beast-like green eyes fixed on Kalen. Unfazed, Kalen met them evenly—stoking Azkal's interest further.
Finally baring massive fangs, Azkal grinned broadly.
"A madman with manners, they said. Spot on—gives me chills."