SML Ch 91

Chapter 91

The study was thick with dust. Cough, cough. The sound of someone choking and hacking from inhaling the air rang out loudly in every direction. Had the study always been this dusty? Reynald distinctly recalled that Heide had taken care to keep it somewhat clean, leaving the floors nearly free of dust…

Staggering to his feet, Reynald threw open the study door wide. A rush of cool air surged in, flooding the room with the crimson glow of sunset. Realizing it must already be evening, Reynald glanced around the study—and froze in shock.

“Was the study always like this?”

No matter how dimly lit it had been before, it could never have looked this different. Reynald looked around, greatly unsettled. The shelves, once filled to the brim with handwritten manuscripts, were now more than half empty, as though thieves had ransacked the place.

He at once rummaged through the remaining books on the shelves. Most of the manuscripts had disappeared, and what remained bore handwriting vastly different from before, many appearing to be texts imported from elsewhere. As Reynald puzzled over the mystery, realization dawned on him.

“It didn’t make sense from the start. That a single person’s hand could produce enough manuscripts to fill dozens of shelves…”

Even if a person shut themselves in for years, eating, sleeping, and writing without pause, it was nearly impossible. Perhaps the books Reynald and the others had seen weren’t real at all, but some kind of hallucination. No, more than that—the entire library they’d been in earlier may have been nothing but a fabricated space. Otherwise, there was no way the floor Heide had diligently swept could now be buried in dust.

“Ugh, my head…”

“Mr. Heide, are you all right?”

The moment they returned to the real world, Heide groaned in pain as he struggled to rise. Realizing he was back in the study, he breathed a long sigh of relief—only to catch sight of Arun and cry out in horror.

“Th-the King of the Fae…!”

“It’s okay, sir! The Fae King is gone now! We’ve come back to the real world!”

“B-but, there—over there—”

“Look closely! That’s Prince Arun! He’s not the Fae King!”

With a pale face, Arun stepped back wordlessly, while Alex and Volant hurried to calm the panicked steward. At last Heide regained his composure, exhaling deeply before recounting what had happened.

“So let me understand. The study went empty and while searching for everyone, you suddenly felt as if you had fallen into water?”

“That’s it exactly. Even though there was nothing but wood floor beneath my feet… If you’re right, then I must have been hallucinating.”

In all likelihood, Heide had fallen into one of the fae water pools then, and by sheer chance a magical path leading straight to the Fae King’s garden had opened within it. Normally, falling into such a pool would have transformed him into one of the fae on the spot, but being drawn directly through the passage into the King’s garden had spared him from much of its influence.

“That Fae King’s garden was so fragrant and magnificent… As I wandered, some of his underlings caught me and dragged me before him.”

“Then you saw the Fae King directly?”

“Yes. He looked uncannily like Prince Arun, though in hindsight I suppose that too was part of the illusion. Perhaps he conjured a likeness based on the most kingly person in my memory.”

It was likely the resemblance had been real—but Reynald, wishing to protect Prince Arun’s dignity, chose to keep that thought to himself. It would be better for Heide’s own peace of mind as well.

“In any case, that so-called King started probing my memories and speaking of this and that… Oh, right. My lord, do you perhaps have a grudge with the Fae King?”

“If it can be called a grudge, then yes.”

“Then it seems it was no fabricated tale. At any rate, the moment he saw my memory of you, the Fae King flew into a rage, demanding to rush over for vengeance at once. But his attendants looked at him blankly, asking what on earth he was talking about… Their confusion made me think perhaps it was all madness on his part.”

“That’s simply the nature of the fae. By their nature, they know little of vengeance or grudge-bearing. The Fae King is the anomaly.”

That curious race, bearing neither malice nor goodwill, never sought revenge unless attacked directly. Even in the midst of battle, should a foe suddenly sheathe their sword, they would blink in honest confusion and ask why. They lived—and killed—only moved by curiosity. What will their companions do if I slay this one? What will happen if I drown this person to turn him into one of the fae? Such curiosity, so close to malice, made them dreadful to humankind.

“And why is the Fae King different?”

“He suffered an accident in childhood. The details are best left unsaid… But this complicates matters. If what you say is true, then it’s not impossible the Fae King could attack us at any time.”

Even the records in the Theater had shown the Fae King drawn into this land under a strange enchantment. Likely not malice then, but curiosity that had brought him. If there was something terrifying yet captivating enough to lure him here, naturally he would have sought the truth of it.

But now, on top of that, came a deeply personal grudge from the distant past. The only reason his underlings hadn’t attacked already was because they couldn’t comprehend the emotion of vengeance. That fierce compulsion—to kill an enemy, to leave them ruined, simply to soothe one’s own rage—was utterly alien to the fae.

Yet, if the Fae King succeeded in turning his underlings’ curiosity toward his vendetta, they might come at Reynald with a persistence greater than ever before. Even imagining it, Reynald felt a chill run down his spine.

Theophros must arrive quickly. No, perhaps even that wizard would not be enough… As Reynald racked his brain desperately for a solution, Volant, scanning the room, tapped him on the shoulder.

“My lord, look there!”

“What is it? …Wait, that’s—”

At the center of the mirror that until recently displayed the rules of the study, a note was now affixed. Reynald tore it down at once. The handwriting was scrawled and shaky, as though the writer had strained to keep it neat but was hindered—like someone unaccustomed to writing with their left hand forcing themselves.

“…A note from the youth in the records.”

Muttering, Reynald read it through. Beginning with the words “This might be of use to you,” the note listed various “materials” that could be obtained within the fief.

At once Reynald’s eyes were drawn to the final entry at the bottom.

“Fae – Illusiongrass, at the small cave guided by Flame of Ice. Northwest of Swine Forest.”

Illusiongrass was one of the magical ingredients that could be applied to weapons to fight the fae. With it, Reynald felt he could at least resist without being helpless. With relief, he tucked the note into his inner coat.

It seemed wise to gather the other materials mentioned when time allowed—they would surely serve useful in the conflicts to come.

“…Perhaps we should be grateful he left even this much behind.”

As Reynald murmured bitterly and sighed, the others slowly rose on shaky legs, preparing to leave the study. The strange ordeals of this day had drained them all, leaving them eager for rest, though unresolved questions only piled higher.

Was it well that Arun and Serna had never seen the Theater records? Was the masked man in those records truly the one who had murdered Volant’s family? Were the knights clad in strange sigil-carved armor truly tied to Alex’s past?

None of these were matters solvable now. To return to the fae world was too dangerous, setting aside the first concern. As for the other two, they were far too closely bound to each of the young men’s personal histories. For Reynald even to broach Arun’s connection to the Fae King before everyone seemed difficult enough—let alone unravel each man’s private pain in public.

“…Perhaps it’s best we rest for tonight, Sir Reynald. Everyone is exhausted after returning from such an unfamiliar realm.”

Serna’s suggestion met with a sigh and a nod from Reynald. It seemed better to first secure the materials listed on the note, and thereafter, in days to come, take each of the young men aside privately to speak with them.

“My head aches terribly, my lord…”

Reynald murmured, gently stroking Volant’s head as it leaned against him. The so-called “Selection”—something Reynald had thought would amount only to chasing away unwanted intruders—was proving to be much more entangled with the selected ones’ pasts than he had ever imagined.