An emergency fell over Duke Gannion’s house.
Because Kirky, the highest-ranking priest who had been the High Priest’s foremost disciple and had lived under the protection of the ducal house, had returned as a corpse.
Hugh and the butler, who had been in charge of contacting the temple from the beginning, hurried to the temple, and Seton left for the royal palace to find out the whole story. Coco tried to go with him as well, but she could not withstand the shock, fainted, then fell ill in bed and could not go to the royal castle.
It was infuriating. Why did something like this happen?
Why did the things she cherished leave for somewhere else one by one like this?
Coco wanted to confirm Kirky’s corpse clearly with her own two eyes, but she could not move an inch from the bed. She was so frantic she felt she might go mad. On the other hand, it also felt like a lie. What on earth did they want to tear away from the ducal house that they would make such a cruel and low threat? They could only be vile people. Yes, was that not what everything done by a puppet king manipulated by a regent amounted to? He must be busy filling the money pouches of the old pigs in the royal castle!
With her head burning hot, Coco cursed the royal castle endlessly. However, without any reward for having cursed the royal castle all through the night, Seton, who had gone there, only confirmed the terrible truth.
“Speak.”
There was no one among those gathered in the study the previous duke had used who did not know that the calm voice was not truly calm. And there was no one who would point that out either.
Coco, who had dragged her sick body up, forced herself into a dress, and adorned herself more splendidly than usual, glared at Seton.
“My lady.”
He had clearly explained the whole story just now. But as though denying the facts, Coco only repeated the order that once the story was finished, he was to properly tell her everything again in detail from the very beginning.
This was already the third time she had said, “Speak.”
Seton opened his dry lips.
“Yes, my lady.”
If this was Coco’s way of accepting a truth too hard to believe, then they would have to follow it as many times as needed.
***
Just before summer arrived, Ragniel made a new study. After sealing off the study he had used before completely through the magicians, he had an empty room on another floor renovated and made it his study.
After hearing the report, Ragniel nodded.
A faint sorrow passed over his face.
“What will you do now? They seem very angry indeed.”
The administrator who had been to the Gannion ducal residence looked sickened. Though he asked what Ragniel would do, the administrator did not look particularly worried. That was only natural, because it was the Gannion ducal house. They could not be said to possess great loyalty toward the king, but was it not a family through which clean blood flowed, unable to harbor treasonous intent?
If they were soothed sincerely with a few words, they would probably soon forget the grief of that priest’s death as well.
“What is there to do? We should naturally help them hold a grand funeral.”
A benevolent voice rang out. The words carried a strange power, enough to make even the administrator who usually disregarded the king flinch. The administrator, who had faltered for an instant, answered that it was indeed so, then smiled with satisfaction.
It seemed this young king, too, had begun to understand politics properly.
After the administrator left the study and Ragniel was alone, he silently toyed with the handle of his teacup.
“It was unavoidable.”
The humming voice sounded as though several voices overlapped.
Ragniel’s expression was endlessly peaceful, but his voice was shaking mercilessly, as though it stood in the middle of surging waves. It was a voice frightened as though it had been thoroughly drenched in winter sea wind.
“To protect them, I could not leave behind even a single possibility.”
There was no hesitation in the voice that had finished making its decision, but Ragniel’s heart was breaking apart.
Like the countless mirrors he had shattered.
Ragniel stared straight at his reflection in the teacup and muttered as though reciting a spell.
That he must never waver, and that he must not forget his first resolve.
He closed his eyes and waited for the Heroes who would be returning to the kingdom with victory in their arms.
***
Marching beneath the blazing sun while wearing heavy armor was not an easy thing.
Drops of sweat fell drip, drip, from beneath their chins. They were leaving the land of Media and returning to the kingdom. The flag of the Kingdom of Setoran fluttered vigorously in the summer wind. Dense air full of humidity clung to the soldiers’ faces.
However, even this hot wind could not stop their joy. Not only had the war ended earlier than expected, but it was as good as half of the worries troubling the Kingdom of Setoran had been resolved.
The long march was a grand sight.
The three at the very front, wearing armor with slightly different patterns, had the “star” shape that marked the Heroes engraved on their cloaks and all over their armor. Cloaks red as blood fluttered and seized the eye. Behind the Heroes, the knight commanders followed with grave faces. Behind the knight commanders came the vice commanders on horseback and the members of the knight orders, and finally, the soldiers moved densely packed together. And in the carriages at the very back were the goods they had seized and the bodies of their comrades.
“To think it was nothing but absurd bluster.”
As though the words he habitually said, that summer was his weak point, were true, Luman had become noticeably drained.
To say it was because the wound that had been healing had split open again was not convincing, since pain, to Luman, was like air. He searched inside his chest and poured strong liquor into his mouth. Geloman, who had been watching him, did not stop him and instead held out his hand as well. Luman smiled faintly and handed over the liquor.
Together with a tingling pain, burning heat spread down the throat and through the whole body. It was liquor like poison, strong enough to make even the fingertips tingle and the mind snap awake.
Everyone knew, even without anyone needing to explain it, that the liquor Luman and Geloman were drinking was for someone.
“......What if he resents us?”
Luman ended up asking as though possessed. His question was buried beneath the sound of horse hooves and did not reach the back. Temar did not move even at Luman’s question, only staring straight ahead.
“Who do you mean?”
“Who else would it be?”
Luman lowered his eyes. Sunlight passing through his golden eyelashes made a fan-shaped pattern on the back of Luman’s hand. Luman, who had been blinking while looking at the shadow, felt as though he might go mad from wanting to see that boy today.
He had thought he would be able to endure with nothing but longing.
He had thought the time they had spent together was heartbreakingly short, but since the memories they shared were not few, he could endure with those.
Luman now felt as though he suddenly understood what Ren had meant when he shouted at him, asking why he looked at his face with that kind of expression. What sort of expression he himself must have been making.
Luman rubbed his face.
Had he not been looking at him with an expression that begged him to do something, as though clinging to him? With eyes that said it had to be him or no one, with an unbearably deep, honey-sweet expression, yet one that looked as though he might die at any moment. Had he not looked at Ren with a face that said Ren was allowed to do that?
Ah...... If only it were winter, when even breath scattered. If it had been, then the boy’s name, too, might have scattered like breath, and it would have been all right. The moment he murmured the boy’s name, something heavy settled in his chest. Something like a boulder that would not budge no matter how hard he tried to lift it out made the backs of Luman’s knees go numb.
Then again, in truth, he did not even want to lift it out. Because even this pain and suffering came from that child. Because he could not find that child, see him, touch him, or hear any news of him. So he could not lose anything else related to Ren.
Luman was glad for his own pain, and wished to be in pain forever.
“You’re insane.”
As though he had read Luman’s thoughts, Geloman said.
“Haha, am I?”
Geloman did not answer his self-mocking laugh. As Luman raised his lowered head, he naturally wiped at the corner of his eye. And then he realized it. Geloman had not said that about him. His gaze was examining the rear of the procession.
“What, did I just talk to myself? How embarrassing.”
Just as Luman muttered crookedly and pouted, he noticed something wrong.
Temar, who had been standing at the head and glaring only straight ahead, was gone. Luman turned his head after Geloman and could only stop speaking.
When he stopped, those following behind also began to stop with a delay. The procession line became disordered at the sudden action, but it had already been disordered before Luman stopped.
“Ren, it’s you.”
“......Th.”
The blazing sun, the drops of sweat falling beneath chins. The air heavy with humidity and the heavy armor. Though a long time had passed since winter, and the dense, oppressive air seemed to squeeze the body tight.
Temar’s voice seemed to carry the freezing air of winter.
The longing that had escaped because he could not possibly control it, and the deep gaze that seemed to have been buried for a long time, were directed at someone of similar age who resembled Ren.
Temar had noticed the blond hair quietly slipping out beneath the armor, and before anyone could stop him, he had broken away from the procession and approached the soldier.
In one of Temar’s hands was the helmet he had removed from the boy, and in the other was golden hair.
Blond hair, faintly shining beneath the summer sun.
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