Chapter 85
Chapter 85
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 85
Chapter Title: Proof of One's Existence
-----------------------------------------------------------------
*
Blue meadows, red sunset. Like a watercolor painting, no, like a fairy tale sketched in pastels, that meadow from those days was beautiful. Fernandez looked down at his gauntlet, densely covered in scars, and tilted his head.
Those days. Those days... The words felt unfamiliar.
Unfamiliar words. Unfamiliar sensations. Suddenly, Fernandez gazed at the sword he held. A dusk-hued greatsword, with his own name etched small upon its blade. Dane.
Dane, in the tongue of dragons, meant compassion. The impeccably polished blade reflected his face like a mirror. The face of a middle-aged man wearing a crown appeared. A strong jawline and steadfast emerald eyes. King Dane.
'A dream.'
He had entered the memories of King Dane. Fernandez quickly assessed his situation. He could even feel the damp scent of grass blades at dusk with exquisite detail. The pulsing of blood in his heart was vividly real.
But this was a dream. I am not the king. I must not forget myself. I must not forget.
Ever since that day when two souls merged, his own soul had been gradually changing. It was unwelcome. He clicked his tongue.
"Your Majesty, His Highness the Prince has come to see you."
"Oh, yes. Of course."
An unfamiliar voice flowed from his mouth. Fernandez decided to observe the unfolding situation for a moment, as it proceeded without his control.
-Clop, clop.
Soon, the sound of approaching hooves reached him. Prince Elias stood with the sunset at his back, looking down upon him. His green eyes sparkled from within the shadows. King Dane smiled brightly at the sight, which seemed to capture the prince's childhood form perfectly.
"My son."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
-Thud.
The prince dismounted. Fresh blood still clung to his medium armor like rust. He had come straight from the battlefield. Fine filial piety. King Dane nodded inwardly with pleasure.
"Have you come in person to report the victory? You could have rested more; I would have visited your chambers myself."
"No, Your Majesty. How could I ask that?"
"Your feelings please me, but it's a pity. Is there no time for a father and son to share a drink?"
At his words, Elias smiled and pulled a canteen from his saddlebag. With a clear pop, the prince uncapped it and tossed it to the king.
It was rude behavior, but both king and prince laughed heartily.
"Father, wouldn't it be more poetic to drink with the sunset as our companion?"
The king snatched the canteen and sniffed it. The distinctive musty aroma of barley liquor wafted out. He chuckled deeply and took a swig to wet his throat. The strong spirit tingled as it slid down.
"You rascal, filling your canteen with liquor on campaign?"
"Haha, Father. How could one charge into battle without a bit of liquid courage?"
"The Magus Council would have you flogged if they knew."
"The Round Table Knights would beg to share it."
"Haha!"
Magus and Round Table Knights. Unlike King Dane, who had ruled perfectly between them, his son leaned more toward the knights. The king felt a twinge of unease about it deep down. It was possible to raise a nation with a knight's strength, but impossible to maintain one with sword and spear alone.
Without the wisdom, counsel, and administrative skills of the Magi, preserving the form of a nation would be exceedingly difficult. The king gazed at the canteen with sunken eyes before handing it back to the prince.
"Marry a magician."
"...Pardon?"
The prince choked mid-sip, spilling liquor.
"How will the blood of lions continue amid those desk-bound, musty scholars?"
"Those scholars are the pillars of the realm, my son. What you lack is not strength, but wisdom."
"Didn't you declare you wouldn't meddle in your child's marriage?"
"That was because those Fairn bastards dared to claim you as a son-in-law..."
The king thought bitterly. There were no more external enemies to match with force. The era of blood and flame would end with his generation, and what the kingdom now needed was not a warlord, but a wise ruler—a sage king.
The prince was a man born and shaped by the age of war. The young knights of his generation fervently supported this unpretentious prince, but he lacked the virtues required for the current era.
It was no longer a time for lions to charge. Herding the sheep could be left to hounds; now was the time to reign like an eagle.
"I have a duchess in mind already. The daughter of High Magus Merlin. You'll like her when you meet her. How long do you plan to pluck roadside flowers? When I was your age..."
"Ah, ah! Father! You sound just like those stuffy council elders right now!"
"You... you brat. What is this toward your father...?"
Had he spoiled his son too much? King Dane stared at his son, who looked utterly exasperated. It was excessively rude, whether toward his king or his father.
The young, vibrant, hot-blooded vigor had won him great support from the youth... But the king had once been like that too.
The king scowled and gripped his sword.
"Draw your sword."
"...Pardon?"
"It's time for your lesson."
"...Suddenly? Uh, uh, Father. Are you sure? I won't hold back anymore?"
"You rascal."
-Sing.
The scent of grass filled the air. The peculiar smell of the final moments when the sun scorched the sky. Beneath the setting sun, the knight's blade gleamed as dusk approached.
My son, you will be the new sun. There is more I wish to teach you, to show you.
How tragic. Our lives are so brief.
The two knights' swords clashed in the air, spilling a thick metallic tang.
*
"Bring more liquor."
"Father, even a king shouldn't speak like that..."
"Don't talk like the Magi, son. I am the king."
"You're such a child sometimes."
The two knights, drenched in sweat, slumped on the meadow gazing at the moon. King Dane loosened his numb wrists and gulped from the canteen his son offered. A drop of liquor trickled onto the end of his beard.
"Whew, what a moon."
"Haha, Father. So, does that mean you've decided not to meddle in your son's marriage?"
"...I went easy on you."
"You sliced through space itself, and you call that going easy?"
"Would I slay my only heir? Of course I struck at a level you could block."
"...Yes, Father. Sure, let's say so. Then you'll only interfere in my marriage at a level I can block too?"
The king sighed heavily and took another swig. A dizzying alcohol buzz rattled his mind. His blood surged hotly. His sweat-cooled body felt pleasantly refreshed.
In his youth, dashing across battlefields, he had often unwound like this with his vassals. Fond memories.
"Is there a woman who has caught your eye?"
"...Renata. I've been seeing her lately."
"Daughter of whom?"
"She tidies my chambers. A maidservant."
"...Sigh."
It burned inside him. Dizzying. If she bore him a child, the Magi would foam at the mouth in collective outrage. If he died early, they might even assassinate the girl.
His son was deeply unpopular among the Magi and elders. Were it not for his bloodline, and with his power not yet fully solidified, the dynasty itself might shake.
Foolish child. Foolish child... Sadness welled in the old king's eyes. Still too immature.
"Go on an expedition."
"Where to?"
The prince responded eagerly to the word "expedition." An immediate answer. Better to eat steel than play politics in the stale, dusty court. The king felt a headache coming on and toyed with the canteen.
Perhaps it would be better if he earned glory, built a base of support with his expedition companions, and returned. If only he could hold out until then.
Shiledsi, grant your blessing. Mother, bless the royal line.
"Anywhere. To a place where you can make your name resound. Gather knights who serve under your banner and depart."
"Oh, yes! I'll assemble my retinue."
The prince laughed brightly. The old king smiled bitterly, gazing into those innocently clear eyes. He hoped this child would always look only at the bright side of the world—brightly, joyfully.
Yes, it's not for me to interfere. He gazed at the fiercely burning star. The alcohol made the starfield waver.
He watched his son stroke the horse's withers. So young and naive. That a child born amid war could grow so innocently must be thanks to his mother. He had contributed little to raising the boy.
So, my son. This is all I can do for you. Don't throw your life away—go anywhere. Wherever you are, I will prepare a place for your return.
The moon rose, and the cool wind bent the grass. The king rose, leaning on his sword.
*
"Hah..."
Fernandez woke drenched in cold sweat. He hurriedly brought his hands to his eyes. Smooth skin without a single wrinkle, the saintly divinity pulsing through his veins, and the writhing Demonica muscles throughout his body.
I am not the king. I am Fernandez. I am Fernandez.
Gazing wistfully at the prince was not him. Since their souls merged, he had occasionally read King Dane's memories, but never had they seeped in so deeply.
Sword, sword. I need my sword.
He fumbled at his bedside. In his days as a black magician, he always kept a dagger there. Nothing met his grasp. This won't do.
I need proof that I'm not mad. I need to recognize that I am myself.
He flailed his hand roughly, groping around. His vision, just awakened from deep slumber, had not yet recovered. Objects appeared blurry and hazy. Anxiety gripped him.
-Thud.
Then, slender yet firm fingers overlapped his hand. Warm hands. As Fernandez paused, the fingers stroked his hand.
"Benefactor. It's alright. Benefactor."
"...Kirhas?"
"I'm right here. Benefactor."
Only then did Fernandez feel his heart gradually calming. At least he wasn't alone, dropped into enemy territory. Nor did it feel like he was imprisoned. He shook his foggy head and turned toward the voice.
Kirhas Hearttaker's turquoise eyes gazed at him, filled with worry. They shone brightly in the darkness.
"...Where are we?"
"One of Shaxisi's hideouts."
"How long has it been? What happened?"
"...You need more rest, Benefactor. It's already been a month since you lost consciousness."
"A month?"
His last memory was wielding magic at its peak. Magic fueled by burning life, rampaging in omnipotence despite rapid aging.
"Give me a mirror."
"...Pardon?"
"A mirror. Anything."
"Yes, Benefactor."
Kirhas soon brought an old bronze mirror. He took a deep breath and looked at his face.
Neither the old knight-king nor the aged black magician. Only then did he exhale. In the mirror trembled the face of a man in his early twenties, with shaking blue eyes.
At least it means the blessing of immortality activates even at the moment of aging to death. Artificial aging is possible, but does the blessing itself guarantee eternal life?
Excluding death by injury, it meant even natural aging akin to senescence could be reversed. As Fernandez stared into the mirror, he noticed something odd and frowned.
White hair had grown. A sizable lock, sprouting from the end of his left temple.
'Feizashi.'
-Yeah. Coming back to your senses?
'Is this a side effect?'
-Probably.
The blessing of immortality doesn't guarantee infinite life. No blessing is perpetual, and the more potent—like immortality—the more volatile. Beitasser's blessing was fading.
So, his black hair represented the remaining reserves of his immortality. This white hair was the backlash.
Fernandez set the mirror down and looked at Kirhas. Her eyes were straight and strong, yet steeped in deep fatigue.
He felt her rough fingers still clutching his hand.
"What's the current situation? Explain from after I collapsed."
"...The war isn't going as expected, Benefactor."
Kirhas parted her lips with effort.
*