Selection (2)
What should one do when ordered to shove their own throat into the jaws of a beast?
"Lord Tollin, you must return to the estate immediately," Pale urged, nudging Tollin, who stood as still as if his feet were rooted to the ground.
Yet Tollin could not tear his eyes away from the Young Duke, who was still watching him with anxious eyes. He could not go back now. If he returned like this, everything would go down the drain. He might be detained to answer for his alleged crimes, or perhaps even tortured. There was no telling what they would do to Flynn before his guilt was even proven.
Priest Vesper's face, wearing a benevolent smile, caught his eye. The priest had acted as if he knew everything from the very beginning. He had known things would turn out this way. Since when? From the moment Tollin expressed his intent to agree to the proposed business? Or from much earlier than that? No, that did not matter. What mattered was the fact that if he left Flynn here and returned to the estate, something irreversible would happen.
Tollin gritted his teeth and glared at Priest Vesper.
"I will return before the ritual begins, Priest Vesper. Until then, I entrust the Young Duke to your care," Tollin said, feeling as though he were suffocating even as the words left his mouth.
"You have nothing to worry about. The Temple is generous to the citizens of Abaran, provided they are not criminals." Letting Vesper's meaningless nonsense go in one ear and out the other, Tollin turned his gaze back to the Young Duke, who was trying his best to look reassuring.
"I will be back soon. Do not worry too much." Having managed to offer some comfort in return, Tollin bowed deeply to the nodding Young Duke, turned around, and climbed back into the carriage.
The door clicked shut, and the carriage set off. It moved immediately, even without Tollin's command.
Inside the wooden box that sped away as if pursued, Tollin stared blankly outside. His heart hammered wildly, and his mind was a tangled mess. He could not tell whether he was terrified of being directly reprimanded for his crimes by the Imperial Family, or if he was terrified of losing Flynn.
Yet, amidst the chaos in his head, one thing grew increasingly clear: that youthful face trying to reassure him until the very end. Those neat features and intelligent gray eyes. And then, another pair of deep eyes overlapped with them—someone else's gray eyes, trembling as if writhing in agony, flashed in his memory.
In an instant, Tollin felt a sudden chill, as if someone had poured ice-cold water over his brain. His pounding chest grew cold, and everything became crystal clear, as if a film covering his eyes had been peeled away. He hadn't suddenly grown stronger, nor did he have some brilliant plan. But courage welled up inside him—a reckless courage that made him feel he could do absolutely anything right now. Some might call it foolhardiness.
Tollin calmly opened the carriage window.
"Is something the matter, milord?" asked Jack, who was riding his horse alongside the carriage.
"I need to quench my thirst before we reach the estate. Pull the carriage over at a nearby tavern," Tollin replied calmly.
Once he set foot in the estate, he would never be able to leave again. He could not go to the Duke's residence. He had to return to the Temple.
As Tollin ordered, the carriage pulled up in front of a bustling, cheap tavern. Tollin declined Jack's offer to fetch a drink so that his master wouldn't have to step into such a low-class establishment, and climbed down from the carriage himself.
The tavern, which sold cheap food, had no proper lighting. Despite the gloom, the dark interior was packed with people. On the opening day of the Tinas Ritual, many wanted to indulge in a festive mood, even if it meant stretching their pockets a little.
Naturally, eyes followed him as he walked in wearing only a shirt without a jacket, but Tollin paid them no mind. He casually ordered mead from the tavern keeper and found an empty seat. Among the patrons, a few recognized Tollin from the major commotion he had caused with Priest Vesper in the square not long ago. Just as they were craning their necks through the bustling crowd to get a clear look at his face—
Crash! A sharp, loud shattering sound cut through the noise of the tavern. Everyone's eyes darted toward the source of the noise.
"W-what?" Flustered by the sudden attention, a man who had been heavily drinking since broad daylight at a table near the entrance kicked the shattered bottle at his feet in embarrassment.
The man sitting across from him snickered and pointed a finger.
"Looks like you're already too drunk to even hold a bottle."
"What are you talking about? The bottle moved on its own! It definitely wasn't sitting there a second ago!" the man snapped back, bristling at the mockery.
But no one paid any attention to a drunkard's excuses. The tavern quickly returned to its usual clamor. Only a few noticed that the man who had ordered the mead had vanished, but it changed nothing.
Stepping out through the tavern's back door, Tollin held a shabby, foul-smelling robe in his hands. Without hesitation, he pulled it over his head and hurried away. Whether from tension or something else, his heart hammered against his ribs and his breath hitched, but there was no time to rest. He had to return to the Temple before the ritual began.
Once he got Flynn out by any means necessary, the Fides family would no longer remain. He might face a miserable and painful death as punishment, and perhaps something even more wretched awaited him after death, but none of that mattered anymore. He could no longer stand by and lose his family.
Though running was unfamiliar to Tollin, he pushed his legs as hard as he could. All to offer up his life just a little bit faster. But there were too many things in this world that determination alone could not achieve. In a world where one could not even live as they pleased, it was only natural that death was not free either.
Thud. Tollin was dragged backward, nearly falling, as a rough, powerful hand gripped his shoulder tightly.
"Where do you think you are going?" Before Tollin could even recover from the sudden shock, a cold, hard, and familiar voice washed over him.
Tollin looked up at the owner of the strong hand that was still gripping his shoulder as if to break it.
"I asked where you are going." Eyes swirling with betrayal, anger, and various other emotions glared down at him.
"Something's weird," Seya said, suddenly raising his head from where he leaned against the wall.
"The weirdest thing here is you," Nihil snapped, irritable from the lack of water. Though he was quickly forced to shut his mouth and clutch his crown after taking two swift punches from Seya.
"It feels like it's gotten quieter... Why?" Seya muttered, pressing his ear flat against the wall, leaving Nihil to groan in pain while cradling his head.
"What do you mean? It's always been quiet here. Look, you can't hear a thing," Nihil grumbled, his pain apparently fading enough for him to mimic Seya and press his ear to the wall.
"I don't mean quiet like that... I can't really put it into words, but it's a feeling. Like there aren't many people around... Ah, whatever, it's just a feeling!" Seya scowled as he tried to describe his intuition, then gave up with a wave of his hand.
"Seya has good instincts. He's usually right. Did the number of guards decrease? Why all of a sudden?" Mir muttered quietly, standing before the firmly shut door.
Water and meals were distributed only once a day. Unless those bastards were playing petty tricks by cutting down on their rations, it was the second day since Seya had been captured, and the third day since Mir himself had been locked up. Naturally, only one thing came to mind: the start of the Tinas Ritual. Was it a coincidence? Or...
"Mir! Someone's coming!"
Slam! Just as anxiety began to creep in, whether by stroke of luck or misfortune, the door was thrown open violently, almost simultaneously with Seya's urgent warning. A man walked in with gleaming eyes, flashing a creepy smile at Seya, who stood awkwardly next to Nihil. "Today's finally the day, you little rat. I hope you're ready."
Mir swallowed hard as he saw Seya clench his fists. Fortunately, someone else stopped the man who was about to grab Seya and drag him out. Two more men, seemingly the man's accomplices, stepped into the room. Among them, a man who looked on the verge of wasting away seemed to hold slightly more authority than the one harboring a grudge against Seya.
"Stop fooling around and back off. If you screw up today, I won't let you off easy either," the scrawny man warned.
The man who had grabbed Seya by the scruff of his neck clicked his tongue at the scrawny man's words and threw Seya back onto the floor. Before Seya, who landed safely, could even take a step back, the man kicked him.
"Then check this brat first. If he doesn't pass... hand him over to me. I'll make sure he learns that death is a mercy."
The scrawny man looked down at Seya, who had tumbled forward from the harsh kick, sighed, and gave a nod. The man chuckled and reached for Seya, pulling up the boy's worn sleeve as if to tear it off.
"Argh!" Seya let out a small scream at the pain, which felt as if his arm were being twisted out of its socket. Not that the men cared in the slightest.
Mir watched them, a cold sweat trickling down his back. It's fine. It'll be fine. If my guess is right, Seya definitely won't be handed over to that man. An eternity seemed to pass as he tried to soothe his anxiety with self-reassurances.
The man holding Seya clicked his tongue loudly and threw him back onto the floor.
"No doubt about it. This one passes," the scrawny man's voice followed, laced with mockery.
"Damn it..." the disgruntled man muttered, grinding his foot down onto the arm of the sprawled-out Seya.
"Get off me!!!" Seya shrieked in rage, biting the man's shin so hard that he was forced to pull his foot away immediately.
The wound the man had been stepping on was revealed. It had healed completely, leaving only a faint scar with no scab remaining.
Out of the dozens of children captured, only three were chosen by the scrawny man: Seya, Mir, and Nihil. Upon checking Mir's wound, the scrawny man looked slightly hesitant, but after scanning Mir's larger-than-average build, he passed him along with Seya. Of course, this was only possible because Mir had lied, shaving four years off his actual age to hide the fact that his build was actually small for his age.
Nihil's wound had not healed nearly as well as Seya's, but fortunately, he was chosen alongside Seya and Mir simply because he was larger than other children his age, without even having to lie about his age.
The men openly mocked the three as they let out sighs of relief. To the captors, it was hilarious that the kids were happy about being chosen, completely ignorant of the horrors that awaited them. But Mir did not care. The more the enemy underestimated them, the higher their chances of winning.
While the children waged their quiet, desperate struggle, the capital, in stark contrast, boiled with ecstasy and anticipation. The carriage carrying the First Princess had departed from the Imperial Palace and begun its journey toward the central Temple.
Mentil never showed herself outside the carriage. Even if she were to bestow such a blessing, it would have been difficult for the common people to look upon her directly. Nonetheless, the people had eagerly awaited this day, which occurred only twice a year—the only two days of the year when they could come closest to the gods.
Countless citizens of the Empire, not daring to draw near the speeding carriage, bowed their heads in deep reverence toward the vehicle heading for the Temple. It did not matter what the imperial royalty inside the blindingly luxurious golden carriage was thinking.
With only a day left before the ritual, anticipation and anxiety swirled together in a turbulent storm.