Even though he had not actually frowned, Asros could not understand why he felt so uncomfortable.
Fidgeting with the buttons on his clothes and pretending to be interested in something else, he finally raised his eyes after a long while.
Lord Siorcan had already moved to the left transept and was speaking with the High Priest.
The atmosphere looked serious enough for Asros to narrow his eyes.
Although he could not see their expressions because they were standing with their backs turned, he could see the veins bulging in the old priest's gaunt neck.
As the priest gestured sharply and seemed to launch into a heated condemnation, a cold edge briefly passed across Lord Siorcan's face.
At a glance, they did not seem to be on friendly terms.
Asros's eyes sparkled with interest.
'What are they talking about?'
The priests were firm supporters of the Crown Prince.
The future Grand Duke of Siorcan was the same.
He was curious why two people who belonged to the same faction appeared to be in conflict.
Intrigued, Asros quietly slipped out of the pews.
He hid behind a pillar standing at the crossing and attempted to eavesdrop on their conversation.
Someone suddenly grabbed the back of his neck.
Startled, Asros looked up and found Berens staring down at him with a stern expression.
The man spoke in a low voice, reprimanding him.
“Those men are Your Highness's political enemies. Do not approach them.”
“What political enemies? I don't have any.”
Asros pouted and protested, but the man did not react at all.
With a dissatisfied expression, Asros glanced back toward the transept.
Lord Siorcan had already finished his conversation with the High Priest and was walking toward the crossing.
Asros hurriedly hid behind Berens's legs.
Lord Siorcan cast him a brief, indifferent glance before crossing the cloister with elegant steps.
Watching his retreating figure from behind Berens, Asros whispered,
“What do you think the High Priest said to Lord Siorcan?”
“It seems he was reprimanding him over the recent incident.”
“Why? Lord Siorcan and the Grand Temple are allies. Even if Lord Siorcan did something wrong, shouldn't they cover for him?”
A faint bitter smile passed across Berens's face.
“The world is not that simple.”
Berens spoke as though admonishing him, then slowly turned his gaze toward the altar where the funeral rites continued.
“There are many priests who harbor resentment toward the Khan people. In particular, the hostility that the fundamentalist priests feel toward the Siorcan clan runs very deep.”
Asros was about to ask why, but stopped himself.
Memories from his history lessons surfaced in his mind.
Long ago, during the campaign of unification led by Darian Roem Gwirta, it had been the Khan people who fought until the very end.
They had even managed to inflict a mortal wound upon Wigru, the knight said to have received the blessing of God, during the Final Battle in the north.
After the war ended, the people of the East were incorporated into the Roem Empire as well.
Yet even now, the Khan people had never fully assimilated into western society, and the Empire's hostility toward them had never completely disappeared.
Recalling those facts, Asros suddenly snorted.
“How stupid. Other nations fought just as fiercely. Isn't it petty to keep rejecting them simply because they were the last ones to surrender?”
Berens stared at him in surprise for a moment before the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
“That's not the only reason.”
He continued,
“It's more accurate to say that people fear them because the Siorcan clan possesses great power.”
“Great power?”
Asros tilted his head.
After a brief silence, Berens answered.
“According to the records, a certain number of members of the Siorcan clan were born with unusual abilities. Some could see the future, some could read people's innermost thoughts, and others could command all manner of beasts at will. Thanks to those strange gifts, they once ruled as objects of fear.”
The story immediately caught Asros's interest.
“Do you think Lord Siorcan has some special ability too?”
“The chances of that are extremely low. The priests examined him thoroughly and found nothing unusual.”
Berens stroked his chin thoughtfully.
“Most likely, the abilities faded as their blood became diluted over generations. There hasn't been a Primitive Sorcerer born in [N O V E L I G H T] House Siorcan since the powerful mind-reader who appeared eighty years ago.”
After speaking so definitively, he suddenly seemed to remember something.
While rubbing his chin, he added,
“Come to think of it, I have heard rumors that the former Empress possessed the gift of prophecy...”
“My brother's mother?”
Asros asked in surprise.
Berens paused as though considering something, then shook his head.
“It was probably nothing more than a rumor spread by people who wanted to elevate her to a near-divine status. The Crown Prince and the First Imperial Princess are perfectly ordinary, aren't they?”
Then he smiled gently.
“Perhaps the abilities of the Khan people have vanished completely.”
The reassuring tone irritated Asros slightly.
Why should he feel relieved that the Khan people had lost the abilities they had inherited for generations?
He had no intention of opposing his brother.
That meant the Siorcan clan was not his enemy either.
Still, he kept his mouth shut.
Anything he said would probably be dismissed as childish whining.
“It seems the ceremony is nearly finished. We should return now.”
Seeing the people seated in the place of honor gradually leaving the cloister, Berens rested a hand lightly on Asros's back.
Asros immediately followed him out of the chapel.
He had no desire to encounter the half-siblings who regarded him as a thorn in their side.
They avoided the crowded main entrance used by the mourners and exited through the rear gardens instead.
Unfortunately, a group of nobles had gathered there as well, chatting amongst themselves.
The moment Asros spotted several of Gareth's most fanatical followers among them, he frowned deeply.
They would never dare harm an Imperial Prince.
Still, there was no reason to deliberately look at faces he found unpleasant.
Grabbing Berens by the hand, he turned toward a narrow path covered in deep shadows.
Then a familiar name reached his ears.
“What do you think the chances are that Talia Roem Gwirta will recover?”
“Who knows? They say she was found practically half-dead. Even for the elves, completely healing her would be difficult.”
Asros's eyes widened.
He looked up at Berens.
“Is that true?”
Berens hesitated briefly, as though considering something, then slowly nodded.
Asros's face immediately became serious.
He had heard that his sister's condition was poor.
But he had never imagined she had been injured badly enough for rumors like that to spread.
He demanded,
“Why didn't anyone tell me my sister was hurt?”
“Because it was not something Your Highness needed to know.”
“She is my sister! Of course someone should have told me!”
His voice rose sharply.
The noisy garden instantly fell silent, as though cold water had been poured over it.
Turning around, Asros finally noticed the nobles staring at him before hastily bowing and offering their greetings.
His expression darkened.
Not wanting to deal with them, he left the garden with the longest strides he could manage.
Berens followed silently behind him before eventually sighing.
“Your Highness, that lady hates you. No matter how much concern you show, it will not be returned.”
Asros stopped abruptly and shot him a glare.
Logically, he knew Berens was right.
Talia Roem Gwirta disliked him.
Hadn't she said so herself?
And yet he refused to accept it so easily.
“Maybe... maybe she regrets saying that to me. Maybe that day she was simply upset and said something harsher than she meant. People do that sometimes, don't they?”
“......”
“If I go visit her, maybe she'll apologize to me.”
The words had come out impulsively.
Yet the idea sounded surprisingly convincing.
Without waiting for Berens's response, Asros immediately changed direction and headed for the detached palace.
Along the way, he gathered an armful of the prettiest flowers he could find in the garden as a gift.
She'll be surprised when I show up, won't she?
Maybe she'll even feel a little affection for such a kind younger brother.
Filled with anticipation, Asros crossed the vast grounds without stopping.
Eventually, beyond a garden overgrown with flowers and greenery, a gray stone building of rough and unadorned design came into view.
