Chapter 107
Chapter 107
Translation: godsn
"Princess, there's something I wish to gain from you."
Cesare answered readily.
"What would that be?"
"......"
He gazed down at his silver hair, which seemed to shimmer crimson in the firelight.
"My dreams. My ambitions. The promises I made to this world."
It seemed this space, the only one illuminated in the pitch-black darkness, had broken down even his defenses.
Judging by how he was spouting such unnecessary words.
"I have nothing like that."
"You'll find it soon."
"Your fate will be saved by Valdina's Gold Star...... so they say."
There was no concrete proof, but his tangled instincts and reason spoke.
Bet what little hope you have left on the girl before you. Even if it turns out to be false, you won't regret it.
"......"
Silence settled again. But it wasn't awkward.
"Still, it's not...... so bad."
She rested her head on her knees. The encroaching fatigue softened her guard.
The warmth of the campfire was comforting, and the mercenary sitting beside her was skilled enough that she didn't have to worry about beast attacks.
A sense of safety. Was this what it felt like to be protected after so long?
'I don't know.'
The years she had spent only protecting others had been too long—she had forgotten. What was it called again, this moment when she could finally let her guard down?
"......"
Medeia murmured blankly.
"Acares, I wish you had been there back then."
Cesare turned his head. The princess's eyes were half-lidded.
Her voice was so faint that he wouldn't have heard it if he hadn't strained his ears.
"Then maybe... I would've felt a little more at ease. I wouldn't have had to stay awake all night, terrified of when Jared would come for me."
Even if you had just sat beside me occasionally like now, poking at the firewood to keep the flames alive.
"Maybe... I wouldn't have felt so alone."
A transparent droplet rolled down from between her closed eyelids.
The hand stirring the kindling paused for a moment.
'Jared? But this should have been their first meeting.'
A cold glint flashed in his golden eyes.
"......"
The princess fell silent, as if she had drifted off to sleep.
As though trying to conceal the layers of her secrets, the darkness thickened around her.
Quietly, Cesare draped his outer coat over her shoulders.
The next day, Medeia and Cesare made their way out of the forest.
Somehow, a messenger had been sent ahead, and the man who stepped out of Facade's carriage to greet them introduced himself as a mage from the Magic Tower.
"So you are the renowned Princess of Valdina, Your Highness."
The lanky, brown-haired young man looked utterly exhausted and on edge. He reminded her of Siseo, perpetually buried in state affairs.
"You may call me Terence."
The mage added briefly.
Medeia could feel the eyes behind his glasses studying her carefully.
"Aca...res has given me a rough idea of the situation. As the Magic Tower's representative, shall I assist in Your Highness's return?"
"The Magic Tower's representative?"
The young man before her seemed far too young to be the Tower Master.
She had heard that those who transcended mortal limits could halt their aging, but still...
"Ah, my master holds that title. I merely act as his proxy, traveling the continent to oversee transport to the Magic Tower."
Terence produced the Tower Master's seal.
Medeia glanced subtly at Cesare, who was leaning against the carriage with his eyes closed.
'A disciple of the Tower Master.'
The extent of Facade's leader's connections was astonishing.
'No wonder, in my past life, Iason was so regretful when Facade vanished without a trace.'
"In return, what does the Magic Tower desire?"
Medeia asked in turn.
Through the expeditionary force in her past life, she had learned that mages valued equivalent exchange more than life itself.
Unlike the Kazen imperial family, who had always made endless demands of the Magic Tower, Terence hesitated briefly at the princess's surprisingly reasonable question.
"There is something I've been searching for, but..."
Medeia's emerald eyes flickered, silently urging him to continue.
Terence swallowed a dry laugh inwardly.
The noble bearing that starkly contrasted with his gentle face was indeed befitting of the very person who had cornered both the Kazen diplomatic mission and the Regent into a tight spot.
"Your Highness, have you by any chance heard of the Tears of Dawn?"
At that moment, Cesare, who had been resting with his eyes closed, snapped them open.
'Well, do you really have the luxury to be measuring things out like this right now?'
His golden eyes bore into Terence like a warning, to which Terence responded with a subtle glance.
"The Tears of Dawn? Is that the name of a magic stone?"
Medeia asked as if hearing it for the first time.
Detecting no shift in her emerald eyes, Terence gave a slight shake of his head and continued.
"It is a legendary medicine said to cleanse all impurities from the dawn of creation. Your Highness must have heard the rumors that the First Prince of Kazen is living on borrowed time."
"Terence."
Cesare warned him to stop there, but Terence pressed on.
"The Magic Tower believes the Tears of Dawn could be the cure for his illness."
"Get out."
With a loud bang, Cesare's long leg kicked open the carriage door, forcing Terence out.
'So, the Facade was searching for the Tears of Dawn.'
From their reactions, Medeia could piece together the answer.
The Magic Tower, seeking a cure for the First Prince.
'If Acares is currently with that disciple of the Tower Master...'
"My dreams. My ambitions. The promises I made to this world."
His words from last night faintly echoed in her ears.
Abruptly, Medeia asked, "Does the Facade intend to meddle in the Empire's succession struggle?"
Cesare, who had been glaring at Terence, froze.
"What?"
"If it's the First Prince, he's not a bad choice."
Damn Terence. Hanging around Gallo must have rubbed off on him—now he couldn't keep his mouth shut. Suppressing a curse toward his friend, Cesare asked, "Princess, why do you think so?"
"The Emperor of Kazen despises the incompetent and distrusts the capable. The only one who remained unshaken by that eccentricity was the First Prince."
Cesare didn't notice that Medeia had spoken in the past tense.
"Princess, have you met the First Prince before?"
The air grew razor-sharp.
"No. But I know him."
"How?"
"Isn't it harder to find someone on this continent who doesn't know of him?"
Medeia shrugged.
"Even so, he's living on borrowed time with his death already marked. What's so great about that?"
At her cutting remark, Medeia studied his reaction.
'Has the Facade still not made his decision?'
Well, a figure powerful enough to sway the political landscape—every imperial family member with ambitions for the throne would be clamoring for his allegiance.
"If he were the kind of man to wither away from an illness, he would have died long ago. The fact that he's still clinging to life means his resolve is unmatched. Doesn't that make him worth betting your fate on?"
Including Iason.
"If it were me, I'd take the First Prince's hand. Over someone like Grand Duke Castulo, at least."
"......"
For a moment, the mercenary seemed at a loss for words, falling silent.
"Acares?"
"To compare him to Castulo—is that praise or mockery? The First Prince would cough up blood if he heard that."
The mercenary tossed out a cold jest, crossed his arms, leaned back, and closed his eyes.
And swallowed the emotions that made no sound.
Ever since being afflicted by the Curse of the Beginning, Cesare had marched forward relentlessly, surrounded by the despair and grief of countless others.
But even for him, standing against the unfathomable force of the primordial could not have been easy.
Every time the seizures struck, every time the curse gnawed at his body, Cesare repeated it to himself—without even a shred of certainty.
I will survive. I will never give up.
Like a mantra, ceaselessly.
And now, the princess before him said:
"The fact that he's still clinging to life means his resolve is unmatched. Doesn't that make him worth betting your fate on?"
That his desperate struggle had not been in vain.
The recognition and understanding he had never dared to hope for crashed over him all at once, and even Cesare—who prided himself on his cold rationality—found himself momentarily unmoored.