Adults and Children (1)
“So you’re saying Duke Crowner is the son of the late duke’s ex-wife, born from an affair with a commoner?”
It was a sentence that defied comprehension. I pondered it for a long while before speaking again.
“…Then doesn’t that make Jerome a complete stranger, without a single drop of the late duke’s blood?”
“Not entirely. The late duke and his former wife were first cousins.”
What in the world is wrong with this family tree?
As my brow furrowed in disgust, Sage chuckled heartily, as if he had anticipated my reaction all along.
“The older and more prestigious the house, the more obsessed they are with pure bloodlines,” Sage said, giving a careless shrug. “That’s why there was no shortage of wagging tongues when the late duke took him in as his adopted heir.”
“Was there really any reason to adopt Jerome specifically? Surely there must have been other boys in the clan.”
“I doubt it. The Crowner bloodline has always suffered from a severe lack of heirs in the first place.”
Even so, taking an illegitimate child born of an affair and making him the successor of a ducal house was hardly behavior befitting noble decorum.
Besides, didn’t the late duke already have a daughter of his own blood?
Melanie Crowner, the current Empress of the empire. There was no imperial law forbidding women from inheriting the headship of a noble house. In fact, plenty of aristocrats chose to pass their titles down to their daughters. Moreover, it was hardly uncommon for members of the imperial family to concurrently hold the seat of a ducal house.
“I still don’t understand.”
“Perhaps it was because they lacked an outstanding knight at the time. Whatever else they might be, the Crowner ducal house is first and foremost a martial family.” Sage continued in a nonchalant tone, “Back then, Jerome was a mercenary of considerable renown throughout the empire.”
He had that kind of past? No wonder his fighting style was so brutal for a highborn knight.
Is that why he showed no mercy, even when striking down a child?
Yet I had no interest in dissecting his tragic or colorful origins.
“Never mind his history. Do you know of any weaknesses? A fatal one, preferably.”
My relentless grilling finally pushed Sage past his limit.
“Hey! Sage or not, how am I supposed to know things that even the head of an assassination syndicate doesn't?”
A fair point. I clicked my tongue in slight disappointment.
Just then, Sage let out an abrupt exclamation, as though something had struck him out of nowhere.
“Ah, I do remember one thing.”
“What is it?”
“Twelve years ago, I attended a banquet at the Crowner ducal estate after receiving an invitation.” Sage nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing as he dredged up the memory. “If I recall correctly, that banquet was held to celebrate the day Jerome’s daughter was born.”
The proliferation of their bloodline was an obligation for those of noble standing. It was common practice for highborn families to host grand feasts upon the birth of a newborn child. Still, few households went so far as to throw a month-long festival to celebrate the arrival of a daughter rather than a male heir.
“What’s with that look on your face?” Sage asked.
“…What look?”
“You look thoroughly disgusted. Did I say something wrong?”
“No, it’s not because of you.”
It was simply sickening that a man capable of doting on his own daughter with such adoration could, without batting an eye, slash through the arm of a child whose only crime was bearing the title of an assassin. Truly, profoundly sickening.
Jerome’s daughter, is it?
I stared up at the wooden ceiling. A daughter taking after that monster... The picture refused to form in my mind.
Poor girl. To think she had the misfortune of being born Jerome’s child.
If she took after Jerome’s features, she could kiss any hope of being called a beauty goodbye. For the young lady's sake, I silently prayed her mother was a woman of exceptional grace.
“So why the sudden interest in the duke’s weaknesses anyway?”
“…Because landing a single blow on him wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy me.”
At my answer, Sage’s eyes sparkled with mischievous curiosity, and he leaned across the table until his face was inches from mine.
“What? You two had a scrap already? How? Who won?”
I shoved his face aside and stood up from the stool.
“I should be going now.”
“Are you heading off to land another blow? Going after his daughter or something?” Sage pressed, staring at me with unabashed anticipation.
“No.” Unfortunately for him, I had no intention of indulging that morbid curiosity. “No matter the grudge, I won’t stoop to using a child.”
I gathered the robe hanging by the cabin door. “I am an adult, after all.”
“Hmph.” Sage looked thoroughly deflated. Resting his chin on his palm atop the worn wooden table, he let out a dry scoff. “For an assassin, you certainly cling to the strangest principles. You really are an oddity, through and through.”
“An assassin is precisely the kind of person who needs principles.”
If one went around slaughtering anyone and exploiting whatever innocent crossed their path, they couldn't be called an assassin. They were merely a common butcher without restraint or dignity.
“Even assassins have professional ethics.”
“…You’re joking, right?”
Ignoring Sage’s deadpan stare, I slipped out of the cabin. The morning sunlight was dazzling today.
I wonder if he’s doing well with his training.
Catching sight of a tender sprout gleaming golden in the sun immediately brought a certain young boy to mind. Imagining Edwin rolling through the dirt, panting and giving it his all, coaxed a quiet laugh from my lips.
To think I could smile simply by thinking of someone other than Ian... It was truly a strange feeling.
Beneath the shade of a leafy tree near the training grounds, Edwin stood rigidly beside Duke Jerome Crowner.
Every time the knights ran past, they stole sideways glances at the pair. It was hardly surprising; they were an absurdly mismatched duo. The most insignificant prince in the imperial court stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the most famous martial grandee in the entire empire.
Wh-what should I do?
Yet Edwin had no room to notice the curious gazes of the onlookers. His lifelong hero was standing right beside him. Overwhelmed by awe, he dared not meet the duke’s eyes and kept his gaze pinned straight ahead.
“Yesterday was your first day of training, was it not?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
In terms of official imperial protocol, a duke held a status comparable to a prince. To Jerome's query, Edwin answered stiffly, sounding like a recruit snapped to rigid attention. Only then was he able to steal a proper look at Jerome.
The duke was also staring straight ahead, just like the young prince, but the air surrounding him was entirely different. He possessed something Edwin lacked completely: martial presence. The sheer aura that radiated from his towering frame even while standing stock-still weighed heavily on the boy. Intimidated, Edwin quickly shrank back and lowered his chin toward the dirt.
“I heard you held out exceptionally well for your first day. Have you received private martial instruction before this?”
“No, never…”
“Is that so? Then that is truly impressive. You have an innate knack for this.”
At the duke’s praise, Edwin snapped his head up in disbelief. “R-really?”
“Those lads out there endure it as a matter of routine, but for Your Highness, it was your very first time.”
This praise felt entirely different from Rachel’s warm encouragement. To receive direct compliments from an idol he had revered in secret for years... Edwin pressed his lips together firmly, desperate not to let his giddy excitement leak out. He did not want to leave the impression of being shallow or easily swayed.
“Which brings me to my point,” Jerome said, turning his body toward the boy. “I would like to offer Your Highness a small measure of personal instruction.”
“…Instruction?”
Edwin stood dazed. The greatest warrior in the empire was offering to teach him? By all rights, his heart should have overflowed with unbridled joy. And yet, Edwin could not bring himself to celebrate unconditionally. It simply did not make sense.
“Um… why would you offer that to me…?”
“Because I saw potential in Your Highness, of course.” Jerome offered a smile that seemed like the most reassuring, trustworthy sight in the world. “I am not good-natured enough to stand idly by and watch raw talent go to waste.”
Talent... Edwin’s heart began to thump violently against his ribs.
“Do I really have potential?”
Rather than answering directly, Jerome countered with a question.
“What do you believe is most essential to becoming a true knight, Your Highness?”
“…Pride and honor, perhaps?” Edwin recalled the virtues of chivalry he had read about in grand history books.
Hearing the answer, Jerome let out an amused chuckle, as if finding the boy’s innocence endearing. “You are not entirely wrong, but those are virtues one can only uphold after becoming a knight.” Jerome raised a single calloused hand and clenched it into an iron fist. “What one truly needs to become a knight is grit.”
He turned his gaze back toward the training grounds, where exhausted knights were running laps with agonized expressions.
“Innate talent is important, naturally. But what causes talent to blossom is effort—and what sustains that effort day after day is grit.” Jerome looked down at Edwin once more. “And Your Highness possesses remarkable grit.”
“Ah…” Edwin gasped softly under his breath.
“And so long as you possess that grit, I have the ability to forge Your Highness into the empire’s finest knight.” Jerome reached out and placed a heavy hand upon Edwin’s shoulder. “After all, Your Highness cannot remain cooped up in your detached palace forever, can you?”
At those words, the prince’s small shoulders trembled faintly.
“I have heard that after your coming-of-age ceremony, you are slated to depart for the Holy Kingdom. Is that correct?”
“…Most likely.”
“If Your Highness does not wish for that exile, I can petition His Majesty personally on your behalf.” Jerome offered an easy, confident grin. “Even His Majesty would hardly dare banish my personal disciple to the Holy Kingdom against his will. Haha.”
Edwin looked down at the hand resting on his shoulder. It was a massive, weathered palm—the very hand he had once spent sleepless nights wishing would reach out to pull him from obscurity.
“I will help Your Highness make whatever choice you wish.”
Rachel's voice whispered softly in the back of his mind. Was it because the duke's grip was so strikingly different from her touch—rough around the edges, yet small, gentle, and unfailingly warm? At this exact moment, Edwin found the duke's heavy hand profoundly uncomfortable.
“What say you, Your Highness?”
Jerome pressed for an answer. Even so, his face remained thoroughly relaxed, carrying the smug composure of a man who already knew what the boy's eager surrender would sound like.
“Um…”
Yet Jerome’s supreme confidence shattered into pieces right then and there.
“I am truly grateful for your generous offer, Duke… but I think I need a little more time to consider whether to become your disciple.”
As Edwin carefully shifted his body to slip out from under the heavy hand, Jerome’s face twitched with a faint, imperceptible contortion.