Chapter 83 - The King's Silence (1)

As they crossed the Krasilof–Droan border, one of the Huscarls who had remained silent approached Einar.

"Are you all right, Big Brother?"

"However much I've been lazing about lately, do you think this much would tire me?"

"That isn't what I meant..."

The Huscarl glanced sideways at Einar's arms. Thin red lines crisscrossed his forearms, the blood only just dried.

"You watched the whole thing from beginning to end. Why ask now? Yes, you're right. He had me outmatched."

Einar chuckled and shook his head. He had been outmatched in technique. Brute strength alone had won him that fight. It was too embarrassing even to call it a sparring match.

He had once had to teach the boy everything, from how to hold an axe to how to cut a man down. Yet here he was, all grown up and beginning to challenge Einar's mastery.

"I'm half a move behind him now when it comes to outthinking an opponent. If he'd had just twice as much mana, I'd have been the one lying there."

He had good eyes. Einar had always known that, but they seemed sharper than ever now. Perhaps the experience of cutting down a Dragon General had tempered him. An impressive feat.

"Not at all, Big Brother. However quick Petrovich was, he couldn't withstand your secret art."

"Idiot. That's exactly why I lost."

Einar clicked his tongue and looked back at his dim-witted younger comrade.

"Do you really think he had no trick left up his sleeve? He simply chose not to use it. I used my full strength to snatch a victory in a sparring match. What is that if not defeat? And didn't I tell you, brother? The boy has good eyes."

Even as the final blow struck, Ivan's eyes had never left the axe blade descending on him. So there would be no next time. He would not fall for the same move twice. If they sparred again, it would not go as it had today.

"It gets my blood boiling."

When it came to close combat against vast armies, Einar had prided himself on being superior to Maximilien. But was that still true? Could he really be certain he was the strongest of all mankind?

Einar chuckled at the thought that he really was getting old. A satisfied chuckle. So long as a man had a worthy rival, his skills would never rust with age.

"That's why I gave him permission to marry Eshi."

"Petrovich didn't seem interested in her..."

"I know. His feelings aren't what matter. The King of Droan's approval is. I've staked my claim. Who would dare snatch him away?"

According to her letter, Esidisi clearly had feelings for Ivan. Quite assertive feelings, at that. And Ivan was a man who had defeated one of the Seven Dragon Generals. No other human save the hero had accomplished such a feat. That made him more than worthy of becoming Einar's son-in-law and the next king of Droan.

Droan revered strength. Einar knew in his gut that his homeland would fracture after his death. This kingdom was held together not by a sophisticated social system, but by one man's charisma. Without Einar's powerful gravitational pull, there would be no way to keep Droan's Jarls in check.

His successor therefore had to be the strongest man in Droan. Esidisi was the most gifted of his children, and if the man she had chosen happened to be that strong...

Then it was only right to secure him in advance. That was the conclusion Einar had reached as a father, a king, and a warrior of Droan. Ivan's feelings were therefore irrelevant.

"A little over two years until Eshi graduates, was it? Good. A fine time to retire. It's about time I got to watch my grandchildren play and drink myself silly without a care."

Grinning, Einar quickened his pace. There was much to prepare before then.

* * *

The term "diligent civil servant" means much the same thing as "dragon" or "unicorn": almost impossible to find. (Again, they did exist.)

Thus Pavel, a sensible Krasilof civil servant (and a rebel until a fortnight ago), was once again holed up in a hospital room, crunching on snacks.

He was not injured. Had he been wounded on duty, he would have been lying in Elizaveta's office rather than a hospital room, shouting for extra compensation.

His superior was the one hospitalized here. Therefore Pavel was neither absent from his post nor neglecting his duties. He was diligently attending to his superior.

"And do you know what I said then? 'Come, Einar. Today my spear shall drink a hero's blood.' Ah... You should have seen the terror on his face."

"Mm."

"More apple?"

"Stop eating those! I didn't peel them for you!"

"Then put a name on them next time. In this country, any property without a clearly designated owner may legally be reclaimed by the treasury."

As a civil servant empowered to reclaim assets on the treasury's behalf, Pavel munched away on the apples Isabelle had so painstakingly peeled.

"And what's this nonsense about a hero's blood? I was there too, you know!"

"So was I! If Dad had fought you then, you'd have become a martyr for the nation that very day!"

"Don't use big words. They make you sound stupid. Not a martyr. Just a line-of-duty fatality."

"Same difference!"

Pavel gave Esidisi a pitying look before speaking.

"Anyway, aren't you two going to school today? No classes?"

"You didn't go to university, did you?"

"Uh...?"

Why were his academic credentials suddenly up for debate? Universities hadn't even existed back in his day...? (They had.)

Thoroughly enjoying his aggrieved expression, Esidisi puffed out her chest and declared proudly,

"First-years are allowed to give themselves days off!"

"Do you have any idea how expensive your tuition is?"

"Our subjects pay for that. You should try being royalty."

"Wow... Seriously, I'm only holding my tongue because I was a Krasilof rebel. If I'd been a Droan rebel, today would be day one of the revolution."

"Droan doesn't have rebels! Challenging the king is legal to begin with!"

Ivan tilted his head at that. There had been one until quite recently.

Of course, challenging a Jarl was legal under Droan's customs. It was also a dead-letter law, since no one attempted it with Einar on the throne. Challenging Einar for the crown would be the surest method of suicide available to a Droan warrior.

At least a blood eagle offered some chance of surviving. Beneath Einar's axe, there was no such possibility.

"Mm."

Remembering that axe blade made his chest ache again. Had the blow gone even a little deeper, it would have pierced his ribs and burst his heart. Just what one would expect of the Hero's Party's warrior.

Ivan had to admit his own arrogance. He had thought he could reproduce it after seeing it, just like Einar's other techniques.

He could not. At its utmost extreme, martial artistry was no different from magic. It belonged to a realm where its very structure made it impossible for another person to duplicate, impossible to pass on.

A life embodied, achieved by honing one's own inner vision and nothing else.

That blow had split mountain ranges and torn breaches through armies ten thousand strong. It was not something he could imitate simply by understanding the stance, the flow of mana, and the distribution of force.

That was what made it disappointing. He felt he was learning all over again why he had been merely the Reserve.

The foes the Hero's Party had faced were as mighty as gods. Only those capable of honing a blow that could work even against such beings earned the right to stand alongside the hero.

Ivan, too, had barely reached that level. But perhaps an imitation could never surpass the original. With a bitter smile, he opened his mouth.

"Perfect timing!"

"Mmph."

At that instant, a slice of apple slipped into his mouth. He looked up to find Isabelle beaming at him.

"Fast, right? Impressive, right?"

"Indeed. When did you learn that?"

"I've been working at it! And I'll keep working! How do you like your pupil's progress? Proud of me?"

"My pupil?"

"You taught me, so you're my teacher! No taking it back now!"

Had she reached the realm of superhumans? That speed would have been impossible without the reflexes afforded by accelerated nerves.

Ivan finished chewing the apple, swallowed, and chuckled.

"You've worked hard."

"Yes!"

Isabelle answered brightly, her hands behind her back. Her hidden fingers wriggled furiously. She could not contain her joy. Ever since mastering the technique, she had kept it secret so he could be the first to see it.

And there was something else.

'He said his soul had been defiled.'

He had also said Ivan had lost his desires. No. That was wrong. Einar probably had not been lying, but there was at least something he did not know.

'Mister definitely... cried that day.'

She remembered him shedding tears over that bizarre food. Sometimes he had looked at her and smiled faintly. There had been times when he sank into memories of the past, and times when he showed anger, however faint.

He had feelings. This man was not fading away. Even if his colors had weathered into a faded gray-white, fragments of emotion still remained within him. That was enough.

'Never.'

She would never let him meet the same end as her father.

That was her resolve. It was with that determination that she had mastered the technique over the past few days. She had visited him every day, attended classes during the day, and thrown herself into training from the moment school ended until dawn.

All to nurture the faint desires he still held, to toss even a wisp of straw onto those dying embers and coax them back to life.

"I'm telling you, Dad gave his permission too!"

"Cheeky girl. You're a grown young woman. What do you think you're doing?"

"Boo. You sound like such an old fogey."

"Getting hit by an old fogey hurts just as much, you know."

And she swore she would never lose him to that stupid Droan girl, who was advancing the bizarre argument that meeting someone's parents and obtaining permission to marry constituted a formal marriage meeting between families.

Isabelle clenched her hands behind her back. She still had one more thing.

"Mister."

"Mm."

"When you're better. Once you're discharged. Would you like to come over to my place for some 'kimchi'?"

"...!?"

With intent held firm. A life embodied, achieved by honing one's own inner vision and nothing else.

Hero-Style Secret Technique: Learning Traditional Cuisine.

After all, no one in the world surpassed a hero when it came to learning something.

Isabelle was ready to unveil the "finishing move" she had been developing with Yuri since the festival.

"I made stew with it too. I bet it'll taste better than what you had last time."

Ignoring Esidisi's dry heaving, Isabelle beamed. Ivan slowly nodded, his expression grave.

"I judge rigorously."

"Be my guest."

He had another reason to leave the hospital. Perhaps there were still good things left in this world.

Ivan closed his eyes and let out a deep breath.

Maximilien, you accomplished so much... But perhaps the finest thing you left behind was your daughter. You raised her well.

That was Ivan's brief reflection.

It was late summer.