TYND 23

Emperor Dierm rose from his seat, weariness marked his face as he looked down at Harrié. 

“That’s enough for now. Focus on deciphering the research journal. There might be records of magic stone implantation experiments that don’t require sacrificing children. If there are, I’ll provide support so generous it might overwhelm you.”

“……”

“Phillip, who’s next?” 

“It’s Viscount Ossonthay, Your Imperial Majesty.”

Count Phillip, the emperor’s chief steward, answered respectfully. 

“Push it back by thirty minutes. I’ve a headache and need a walk.”

“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty.”

Without even bothering to dismiss Harrié, he left the audience chamber, flanked by his loyal captain. 

Leaving the chamber as well, Harrié headed straight to Ciseau Castle. The mages waiting anxiously there took one look at their leader’s face and knew things hadn’t gone well. He sipped the warm tea handed to him by his disciple, trying to suppress his irritation. 

“I thought he’d be easy to sway, but it turns out he’s more stubborn than I expected.”

 “It’s because he has no one to offer him honest counsel except us. Count Phillip and Viscount Ossonthay are both former knights.”

“Exactly. He won’t listen to us but hangs on every word those knights say. Tch. With someone like that as the emperor… the future of the empire’s bleak.”

Harrié had assumed that, with Theon gone, the emperor would be easy to manipulate. He’d been wrong. 

“How could we, as the creations of Seará, stoop to the level of Maton’s offsprings?” 

It wasn’t an unfair comparison. Even he couldn’t fully reconcile himself to the necessity of using ten-year-olds as subjects for the experiments. Every time he recalled the emerald eyes that’d looked up at him innocently with quiet familiarity, pronouncing his name like an old friend, he wondered—what if the experiments hadn’t required children? If only adults could be used instead.

But he couldn’t agree with the emperor’s sentiment that progress achieved through the sacrifice of children was meaningless.  

That’s a sentiment only someone like the Emperor of Zibiah can afford.

The emperor was already the master of the continent. Araxys was his domain. Only someone who didn’t need progress could afford such lofty ideals.  

What if it was someone who’s very desperate for progress?

For example, someone like……

“Establish a confidential communication line. The recipient is… the fifth in line to the throne of Givarche.”

If it were that swordmaster of Givarche—the one with hair the colour of a snake’s shedding—Harrié was certain that man wouldn’t resist the lure of a living magic stone.  

A twisted smile appeared on Harrié’s lips. 

***

Rothy’s master was obsessively cautious about him interacting with anyone. Because of that, Rothy had to ignore all words of gratitude directed at him. With his back straight, he crossed the camp toward the tent where his master was waiting. But his steps faltered when he saw a small red flower blooming on the ground.

Another flower…

Not long ago, he’d seen a dandelion. At first, he hadn’t known what it was; it was small, yellow, and pretty. Chungnip had come up and said, 

“Ah, it’s a dandelion.”

He’d wanted to linger, to admire it a little longer, but Chungnip had lectured him.  

“Perhaps you should save the flower viewing for later and focus on the battle for now?”

So he’d forced himself to tear his eyes away. 

When the battle was over and he returned to that spot, the ground was torn apart, churn by either magic or aura. The flower was gone, not even a petal remained. 

Is this a dandelion as well?

The colour was different, and so was the shape. It must’ve a different name. But it was a flower all the same. 

The thought struck him: winter must really be ending. 

The passage of seasons was a marvel he never tired of. Unable to resist, Rothy crouched in front of the bloom, his robe trailing on the ground as he leaned closer. 

His master would scold him for wasting time, but he couldn’t help it. Since he didn’t use too much magic today, he wasn’t dizzy or suffering from a stomach ache. That made him want to linger outside just a little longer—to admire the flower that had bloomed amid so much death, to watch the sunset spread crimson clouds across the sky, and to observe the soldiers resting and chatting in clusters nearby. 

I wonder where Theon is…

“Lord Yolone.”

Rothy’s head snapped up, startled by the voice. The man he’d just been thinking of stood there, framed against the sun. Quickly, Rothy lowered his head again. 

“What’re you looking at?”

“A…flower.”

“You must’ve a lot of free time if you can stop to look at flowers.”

Rothy couldn’t miss the cold sarcasm in his tone. 

“Toxic substances are seeping out of the demon corpses. If you’ve time to spare, go help the mages.”

“No.”

That was his master duty. This was where his role ended. His task was to fight. Cleaning up after the battle was his master’s responsibility. 

Rothy stood, deliberately avoiding Theon’s eyes, and walked away. His legs felt unsteady, and he’d to rely on magic to keep himself from stumbling. After walking some distance, he glanced back. Theon was now talking to Zey, his brows faintly furrowed as he spoke. Then the two of them left together. 

Rothy stopped, clenched his fist, and pressed it to his chest. His heart was pounding violently. 

We talked for the first time. 

That was a conversation, wasn’t it? Words had been exchanged, after all. 

Theon was truly incredible. Every swing of his sword, shrouded in aura, cleaved demons cleanly in two, their black blood spilling like ink. Just drawing his blade sent demons fleeing. And when he issued commands, the knights of the Black Lion Knights moved as one. It was awe-inspiring. Even if his orders were somewhat unexpected, no one questioned them, acting immediately instead. Everyone respected and revered him. He, in turn, issued commands with the ease and familiarity of someone accustomed to such reverence, as if it was his due. 

Jet-black hair that seemed to absorb even the light, and eyes as red as blood. In the chaos of battle, whenever he caught sight of that black and red, he felt a strange sense of relief. If he was near, it meant the people around him would be safe.

That flower… it looked like Theon’s eyes. 

What could its name be? It wasn’t a dandelion. Rothy was sure Theon would know the name. He wanted to turn back to the flower and ask him about it, but he’d already run out of time. 

His steps were heavy as he moved forward again, as if being dragged along. 

***

A paper hawk, crafted by magic, soared silently across the vast sky. Theon had just sent a message postponing his arrival for the third time. The newly adjusted arrival date was the thirteenth day of the third month—twenty-one days from now. 

Rothy had always been frail. But now, he wasn’t just ‘frail’; he was ‘very’ frail. Even a slight drop in temperature or a small amount of stress caused his fever to spike. Overusing fever reducers risked dependency or resistance, so the group tried spacing out his medication to strengthen his immunity. However, watching the child quietly endure his symptoms was heartbreaking, leaving everyone deeply worried.  

At a time when they needed to move at full speed, Rothy’s frequent bouts of illness forced the group to slow down. Concerned, the adults stopped at every village they passed, consulting local physicians about his condition. This slower pace allowed the scattered members of the Black Lion Knights to reach their destination ahead of their lord.  

After sending off the hawk, Theon let out a short sigh and turned around. 

“Seeing those fur shoes reminds me of an old story. Rothy, have you ever heard the tale of the boy and girl trapped in a tower.”

“No… I’ve never heard of it.”

Meanwhile, Chungnip had seated Rothy on a smooth boulder in a nearby field. Like a travelling minstrel, he spun a tale to entertain the child. It was a familiar scene during their rests. 

“Once upon a time, a boy lived locked in a tall tower. The one who imprisoned him was a wicked sorcerer, so infamous that no one dared try to rescue the boy.”

“How terrible…”

“But then, a brave girl climbed up the tower and secretly rescued the boy.”

“That’s amazing…”

“Of course, the wicked sorcerer chased after them and cast a curse, turning them into bears.”

“What? That’s really awful…”

“At first, the boy and girl were devastated about becoming bears. But then they realised it wasn’t so bad. With their mighty bear paws and incredible strength, they defeated the wicked sorcerer.”

“That’s incredible…”

“And after that, the boy and girl lived happily ever after as bears.”

“Sniff…”

Rothy’s eyes glistened with tears, he was so engrossed in the story that he even stopped his absentminded stroking of the weasel on his lap. Chungnip smiled indulgently, like one might at an adorable kitten. There was nothing more endearing than an audience reacting exactly as the storyteller hoped.  

“I know the story!” Zey suddenly butted in. 

“Rothy, do you know what the moral of the story is?”

“Love…conquers all…?” 

“No. The moral of the story’s about making tidiness a habit. If the boy and girl had left no traces while escaping the tower, the wicked sorcerer wouldn’t have been able to track them. The lesson’s to always clean thoroughly and leave no trace wherever you stay.”

“I see…”

Chungnip was about to point out that this interpretation made no sense when a booming roar interrupted them. 

“WRONG!”

Even in the dead of winter, with thick snow blanketing the ground, a man came barrelling towards them in a sleeveless shirt. It was none other than the Knight-Captain, Xeon Hart. 

“The true moral of this story’s that muscles can overcome any crisis! Look at my muscles! See how magnificent and strong they are? Muscles are the most certain and reliable way to defeat any wicked sorcerer!”