IYAMD: Episode 46

“They’re hesitating.”

Marsilia stood up, muttering to himself. The Minotaurs, who were expected to attack at any moment, remained unusually quiet.

Jaha tried to stand up as well, but Marsilia stopped him.

“Rest a little longer. I’ll go speak with General Des.”

With some time to spare, Jaha decided to clean his sword. However, he had no tools to do so.

Yesterday, he had been able to use Marsilia’s, thanks to Malek, but now there was nothing he could do. He pulled his sword halfway from its scabbard, then slid it back in with a sigh.

Noticing his dilemma, a knight who had been observing him hesitantly approached. The knight pulled out a cloth from under his armor and held it out to Jaha.

“Please use this.”

Jaha looked at the woolen cloth for a moment before giving a slight nod—his way of expressing gratitude.

As he wiped off the Minotaurs’ congealed bodily fluids from his blade, the knight introduced himself.

“I am Ian Yandel. Erm, should I call you Sir Dandelion?”

Jaha didn’t understand what sir was supposed to mean. He also didn’t know that a title could only be used by nobility. So all he could do was tilt his head in confusion.

Seeing Jaha move his head from side to side without answering, the knight, a man with light gray hair, let out a small chuckle.

“I saw you fight earlier. It was incredible. I wanted to talk to you at least once.”

The man looked slightly embarrassed but showed no signs of stopping his attempts at conversation.

Jaha wanted to make it clear that he couldn’t speak.

I cannot talk.

He mouthed the words while crossing his fingers in front of his lips. Only then did Ian nod in understanding.

“I see. Then perhaps through writing…?”

That was even more of a problem.

Jaha didn’t know how to read or write the Western Continent’s script.

Marsilia had told him to at least memorize his own name, but there had been no time. To Jaha, Western script was a tangled mess of scribbles.

Even after spending two years here, it still looked like nothing more than doodles.

He couldn’t read or write the name Marsilia had given him.

When Jaha shook his head to refuse, the knight’s friendly eyes drooped slightly.

“Ah… That must be difficult. If His Majesty finds out, he might get angry.”

Ian scratched his head with a wry smile, his broad shoulders slightly hunched.

Jaha, now finished wiping his sword with the oiled cloth, held it out to return it.

As Ian reached for the cloth, he flinched and subtly lowered his posture, as if trying to shrink away.

Jaha tilted his head, puzzled by the sudden reaction, then followed Ian’s gaze.

Marsilia stood nearby, watching Ian with narrowed eyes.

“W-Well then, I’ll be going now… Sir Dandelion.”

Jaha gave a slight nod and waved at him.

A moment later, Marsilia returned and held out his hand to Jaha.

Was he telling him to stand?

Without much thought, Jaha took Marsilia’s hand and got up.

The moment Jaha stood, Marsilia brought the back of his hand to his lips.

Jaha’s hands were still filthy, but Marsilia didn’t seem to care.

Jaha blinked as he stared at their joined hands.

Something felt… strange.

The gazes around them had shifted. It was a different kind of attention than before.

But when he turned his head to check, the looks vanished as if they were never there.

What was that?

Jaha glanced around, puzzled, until Marsilia placed a hand on his cheek.

“I thought about waiting, but it’s better to advance. What do you think?”

Wouldn’t Marsilia know better?

Jaha had no knowledge of strategy or tactics. He had no ambitions for fame or glory—he was content simply practicing the martial arts his master had taught him.

So why was Marsilia asking him?

The man smiled gently, urging him to answer.

“We can win, can’t we?”

Jaha didn’t immediately understand the question.

Was Marsilia really advancing without the certainty of victory?

Why?

“Come on, tell me. What do you think?”

Marsilia asked leisurely as he cupped Jaha’s cheeks.

Jaha slowly pushed his face away with his palm.

Marsilia’s head tilted back slightly, and he let out a soft chuckle.

His high-bridged nose slipped between Jaha’s fingers, warm breath spilling against his palm.

Then—

A damp sensation brushed the center of his hand.

And then something soft.

Before Jaha could scowl, Marsilia pulled away, murmuring to himself.

“You’re getting sharper.”

Jaha glared at his retreating back, then suddenly felt a gaze from behind.

It was Baron Odette Hill, one of Marsilia’s subordinates.

Their eyes met, and Odette gave him a subtle glance before disappearing into the crowd of soldiers.

“On your feet! You’ve rested enough. Time to hunt some cattle!”

General Des herded the knights into formation with a loud command.

Jaha stepped aside to avoid disrupting the knights as they assembled.

The formation was similar to the one used in the previous ambush.

The knights who had led the charge earlier now moved to the back, while those who had provided support stepped forward.

Jaha found it strange how none of them showed any hesitation or fear.

Marsilia’s power didn’t erase pain—it only healed wounds for a brief moment.

But if someone’s sense of pain was normal, even that short moment could be unbearable.

For instance, if they had been stomped hard enough to crack their ribs or sent flying by an axe larger than their body, fear would naturally follow.

Yet these knights…

They moved into formation with discipline, as if completely unfazed.

The memory of being crushed under those massive hooves should have terrified them.

And yet, they filled their positions with unwavering composure.

Jaha’s gaze drifted to the man standing at the very front, staring at the ground.

Is it because they are his subordinates?

Because they trust him?

But could faith alone erase pain or fear? That was something Jaha found difficult to comprehend.

After all, he could barely feel pain himself.

Ever since waking up in the imperial palace—or perhaps even before that—his sense of pain had been somewhat impaired.

Jaha had realized this when an assassin’s blade had pierced through his body. He could still perceive all other sensations as normal, yet pain had disappeared entirely.

Was it because he still wished to die?

Lately, he hadn’t thought deeply about that question. Even when he’d had plenty of time, he had always found himself unable to continue that train of thought the moment he became aware of a certain gaze fixated on him.

That didn’t mean he had any particular desire to live, either.

And so, he had simply set the issue aside and stopped thinking altogether.

He had merely followed where his body led him—and somehow, it had brought him here.

With a faint sigh, Jaha approached the man gazing far ahead in the distance.

The man had been staring straight ahead, but as Jaha drew near, he turned his head.

“How strange. For you to come to me without me having to seek you out—it’s almost moving.”

Stretching his arms above his head, he let out a satisfied sigh before looking at Jaha with a complicated expression.

“Could it be that you’re starting to like me, even a little?”

Who knew?

Jaha showed no reaction to his words. After a moment, he quietly moved his lips.

Perhaps.

Jaha thought that, as a person, Marsilia was a good man.

But was that feeling the same as what Marsilia wished for? That seemed unlikely.

When Marsilia kissed him, he didn’t feel an overwhelming urge to push him away.

And yet, somewhere deep in his chest, that simmering rejection remained.

Jaha didn’t refuse him outright because of the debt weighing on his heart.

He knew Marsilia was a good person, yet he couldn’t give him what he wanted.

The man had waited for him for so long, and now Jaha was burdened by this strange sense of obligation.

He wanted to save Marsilia, but he couldn’t give him the one thing he truly needed.

At some point, that weight had settled onto his shoulders.

And so, he had begun to wonder—

Would he ever consider looking for someone else?

If Marsilia found another person, wouldn’t this heavy, stone-like feeling inside him lighten, even just a little?

Jaha had entertained that thought in solitude.

But even if he could speak, he knew he would never be able to voice that question.

Marsilia’s gaze lingered on the side of Jaha’s face as he stared straight ahead.

The silence stretched between them.

What was he thinking?

Jaha didn’t want to hear the unspoken words within Marsilia’s heart, so he closed his eyes.

Even through his eyelids, the sunlight felt blinding—like Marsilia’s golden hair.

Within the darkness behind his closed eyes, strands of that golden hair flickered.

Jaha let out a quiet sigh.

What exactly was this feeling?

Why did the image of that man keep surfacing in his mind?

Jaha opened his eyes and stole a glance at Marsilia from the corner of his vision.

If he was going to see him anyway, he might as well look directly.

Marsilia must have noticed his gaze, yet he continued staring straight ahead.

Before the battle had begun, the man had seemed so much larger—

But now, his shoulders looked as if they had shrunk.

How strange.