MTO C84

Chapter 84

 

The training session, just as Sir Jared had threatened, did not end until the knights were crawling on all fours from exhaustion.

“Hgh… he’s come back even stricter than before…”

“Still, I’m glad Sir Jared has returned!”

Kicking the rear ends of those who babbled nonsense, Jared drove the lot of them out of the training ground. When the younger knights had finally dispersed, the once lively yard grew utterly still. Left alone, Jared sank down in place and let out a deep breath. He had overexerted himself; his right shoulder throbbed again almost at once. Every pulse of pain brought bitter memories back with it.

More than half his life had been spent as a knight. His father, and his father before him, had all served in the Eglence Order of Knights, bringing honor to the family name. It was only natural that Jared too would wield a sword in the service of House Eglence for the rest of his days.

Yet when the day of his own knighting had arrived, the order’s glory had long since faded. From his youth, the young duke had maintained personal guards and paid little heed to the formal knightly corps, while the veteran knights had grown indolent. The famed black eagles of House Eglence—those he had so long yearned to see—were thin and weak, barely receiving enough to eat.

Though disillusioned by the stark difference between the order of legend and the pitiful one before him, Jared was young and filled with fervor. Together with like-minded comrades, he continued training on their own and personally tended to the black eagles. Forgotten though they were then, he believed firmly that one day they would restore the name of the Eglence Knights to its former splendor.

But that day never came. Or rather, opportunity did come—but he had squandered it. After the duke’s death, had he and the others succeeded in driving out the lawless raiders who had overrun the castle, they might have preserved their honor as knights.

Instead, Jared ruined the moment he had awaited all his life. Within only three exchanges in his duel with the Black Knight, his sword had shattered, and his opponent’s blade had pierced his right shoulder. It was a disgrace beyond words.

He had grown to envy the younger knights. The present Eglence Order, revived under new leadership, was not the same corps he had once fought to uphold. The revival of the order under the new duke had sparked in him a boyish excitement, so vivid he could hardly sleep. He still remembered the youthful Kaidan, whose eyes once shone with affection as he watched the black eagles. Thus, when the young master—now the new Duke of Eglence—returned to the north, Jared was convinced he would breathe new life into the order. The dream he had long chased seemed at last within reach.

But it was no longer theirs to claim. The comrades who had shared those years had all gone their separate ways, and even Jared could feel his body aging with each passing day. He had to accept that the order he had poured his youth into preserving was already gone. To cling to knighthood now was not devotion—it was vanity, the obstinacy of an old man.

Just as he was sinking into those heavy regrets, a small figure entered the yard.

“Ah…”

A black-haired boy stood frozen, clearly startled to find anyone there. His eyes, strikingly crimson like fresh blood, caught Jared’s attention—but what truly fixed his gaze was the wooden practice sword in the boy’s hand.

“Come to practice, have you?” Jared asked. The boy hesitated, wary, and nodded slightly. Jared rose to his feet.

“Let’s see what you can do.”

With a tilt of his chin, he pointed at one of the wooden training posts. The boy hesitated but eventually moved to stand before it. He kept glancing nervously over his shoulder at Jared but soon began to swing.

Thwack, thwack—the sound of wood striking wood rang sturdily through the yard. As Jared observed quietly, he soon noticed something strange.

“Hold it. Who taught you to handle a sword like that?”

The boy’s stance was eerily familiar—it was his own. The very style Jared had once drilled into his men. Though all knights of Eglence had trained under his supervision, their swordsmanship varied individually. Most knights had joined as seasoned fighters rather than squires, already rooted in their own formations. To change one’s ingrained habits was a task harder than rebirth. With their skill already proven, none of them had reason to mimic another’s technique.

Presently, there was only one person in the entire order whose swordplay resembled his.

“…The Duke,” the boy muttered at last, scowling as if Jared had disrupted his training. The sullen child’s face reminded Jared vividly of someone’s youth, and he chuckled without meaning to.

“What’s your name, then?”

“Heart.”

“Well, Heart, you imitate quite well. But when you swing downward, step back with your rear foot to lower your center of gravity. That way, you’ll strike with more power. Try again.”

Following his direction with visible confusion but mounting interest, the boy adjusted his stance and swung anew.

Thud! The impact rang louder, stronger than before. Heart’s eyes widened, and a small, pleased smile curved his lips.

“How does that feel?”

“I’m not wobbling anymore.”

“Good. Keep at it.”

Guiding him with more advice, Jared continued to watch as the boy practiced, occasionally demonstrating the movements himself. The ache in his shoulder had faded entirely without his realizing. Watching the boy absorb every word like parched soil drinking rain, Jared felt genuine joy—pure and light.

He had believed there was no longer any place for him here. That all his youthful efforts had come to nothing, that he had failed as a knight. Having no family or heir, he thought there would be no one left to carry his convictions forward.

And yet, here before him, the seeds he had sown were blossoming. Even if the name Woolsley faded into history, proof that he had once been a knight would remain upon this land. That alone was enough to preserve his pride.

“Ah.”

Mid-practice, Heart suddenly bowed deeply. Before Jared could question the strange action, he sensed another presence behind him and turned. Standing a short distance away, observing them quietly, was the Duke of Eglence himself.

“That’s enough for today,” the duke said.

At his words, Heart glanced between them, bowed again—to Jared this time—and hurried off from the yard. Once the boy had vanished, Jared spoke.

“What brings you to teaching the child, Your Grace?”

“At the saint’s request.”

At once, Jared pictured the bright-faced man with the ashen hair. He had shown an interest in the knights’ drills before—apparently now he meant to raise the child under his care as a knight. The saint himself was long past the age to begin training, but the boy’s potential seemed boundless. Jared nodded in understanding.

“He’s quite adept for his age. Persistent, quick in grasping corrections. I daresay, more talented than a certain young master I used to know.”

The now-grown master gave a soft huff of laughter. Then, opening a wooden case, he took out a practice sword and stepped forward.

“Then I shall make up for it with effort. Will you instruct me as well?”

Lifting the sword with a smooth ease, the duke no longer looked a noble at all—and Jared, at that instant, was no subordinate. He grinned broadly at his long-lost pupil.

“With pleasure. But if you think I’ll go easy on you just because you’re a duke, you’re mistaken.”

“Be careful—your shoulder isn’t what it used to be.”

“To guide Your Grace, one arm will suffice.”

He shifted his grip lightly on the sword. Perhaps it was spending the morning among the young and lively, but strength coursed through him once more.

Soon, the training yard rang with the crisp clack of wooden blades meeting. From the castle’s parapet, the black eagles that had returned from their flight perched in a solemn row, silently watching the spar unfold.

Chapter 6. The Spring Banquet

Kaidan stood in a small, dim, shabby room. It was a familiar space, yet not his own.

A faint, ragged sound escaped the corner bed.

“Hhk—.”

A man lay there, body contorted in pain. Stepping closer, Kaidan saw that it was Michel. His fevered face was flushed crimson, and the thin nightshirt clinging to his damp skin revealed every line beneath.

He had been stung by a naga’s tail.

Realization dawning belatedly, Kaidan hastened to the bed. Once the antidote was swallowed, the venom would dilute through bodily fluids and drain naturally, but if the patient lost consciousness, he could choke unable to spit out his saliva. In such cases, someone nearby had to draw the poison out manually.

Bending low, Kaidan pressed his lips to Michel’s and inhaled deeply. When the tainted fluid entered his own mouth, he lifted his head and spat it onto the floor. He turned back to repeat the act—and froze.

“Kaidan.”

Michel was awake, sitting upright on the bed.

Kaidan faltered, startled. In reality, had he awakened this soon? But what did it matter—the important thing was that he had awakened at all.

Michel looked dazed, his eyes unfocused, a faint haze softening the violet within. The nightshirt, too large for him, had slipped from one shoulder, baring the pale curve beneath.

Moonlight filtered through the window, gliding tenderly over the sheen of sweat across his exposed skin. His light gray hair shimmered faintly as though aglow.

There was something unearthly about him tonight. Kaidan felt a prickle of guilt for looking, yet found himself unable to look away.

“I’ve been here four days?” Michel asked softly, his voice languid and smooth. Kaidan nodded without thought, throat tight, words beyond him.

Four days indeed—four days without sleep or steady meal, guarding the man before him. Watching anxiously lest he perish, lest Kaidan’s last chance at atonement vanish forever.

As if reading the depth of that devotion, Michel smiled faintly, eyes curved like wings.

“Thank you.”

An unfamiliar tremor rippled through Kaidan’s chest. Restlessness clawed at him; he felt he must flee the room at once. But before he could move, Michel’s body tilted forward and collapsed against him. Startled, Kaidan caught him instinctively. The white, round face lay now so close he could feel its warmth.

“Kaidan.”

Michel’s lips curled with playful mischief, then slowly his eyes fell shut. His lashes, long and thick, fanned across his cheeks like a lady’s silken fan.

Kaidan forgot how to breathe. In his ears thundered only the violent pounding of his own heart.

Michel’s face drew nearer. Kaidan knew he should pull away—but instead, he closed his eyes.

Damn it.

And at last, Kaidan leaned in.