IYAMD: Episode 8

“So it can be cured, then.”

“Yes, while many do die, there are also quite a few who survive.”

“Can you do it? That… Inner something, whatever it was?” Marsilia’s awkward pronunciation made General Des crease his eyes in amusement.

“You mean “Inner Cultivation”? I cannot, Your Majesty. One must train in it from childhood, but I had already formed my Spiritual Core before I traveled to the Eastern Continent. I heard that mixing the two would make neither work properly, so I never even started.”

Marsilia controlled his breath to avoid sighing and simply nodded. If Des knew how to use it, he might have been able to assess Jaha’s condition or even help treat him.

Maintaining a composed expression, Marsilia expressed his gratitude.

“I see. You’ve been very helpful, General.”
“If there is anything else you wish to know, please summon me anytime, Your Majesty.”
“I will call upon you again once you return from the expedition. You must be busy today, so I shall see you at the banquet tomorrow.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Then, I shall take my leave.”

After Des left, Marsilia devoted the rest of the afternoon to governmental affairs.

There was no word from the inner palace, so Marsilia pushed the matter from his mind and spent his time catching up on the backlog of work.

That evening, when he returned to the inner palace, an attendant reported that Jaha had yet to wake. Marsilia considered checking on him before dinner but decided against it.

What’s so special about a sleeping man that I should go see him? If he saw Jaha lying still with his eyes closed, he would likely feel an overwhelming urge to kill him. Instead, he went straight to his own chambers.

While dinner was being prepared, he bathed and then sat alone in the vast dining hall, leisurely eating as servants attended to him.

After dinner, he retired to the drawing room with a drink and summoned the court physician for a discussion.

“It’s been over ten days since he last ate, yet he’s still alive. That alone seems strange. I heard you examined him while he was unconscious—how is his condition?”

“Aside from being extremely thin, it’s hard to believe he hasn’t eaten for so long. His pulse is slow, but considering his rank as a sword master, that is to be expected.”

The court physician seemed genuinely curious if Jaha had truly gone that long without food.

It had been estimated that the incident occurred thirteen days ago, making today the fifteenth day. Since Jaha had been found stiff among corpses, it was unlikely he had eaten anything.

Moreover, he had been mentally absent for much of that time. It wasn’t as if he could have fed himself while imprisoned.

And the guards of Aricto certainly wouldn’t have been kind enough to feed a starving prisoner.

Which meant that Jaha had gone at least ten to fifteen days without food. He probably hadn’t even drunk water. The fact that he was still alive in such a state was nothing short of miraculous.

Even for a sword master, surviving that long without sustenance seemed impossible.

Neither Marsilia, who had never starved like that, nor the court physician, who had never seen a sword master in such a condition, could easily comprehend it.

“Even a sword master will be in danger if he continues starving. From tomorrow, he should at least be given liquid food, Your Majesty.”

“You mean to force-feed him? That man doesn’t wish to live. Even earlier, he seemed grateful when I raised my sword to his neck.”

The court physician looked puzzled.

“If you wish to keep him alive, then naturally, you must. You don’t intend to kill him, do you?”

Instead of answering, Marsilia tilted his cup, letting the golden liquor swirl inside.

Did he want to save Jaha? Did he want to kill him?

Marsilia still hadn’t decided. He knew he couldn’t kill him, but that didn’t necessarily mean he wanted him alive.

“I need to think about it further. You saw his condition too. I still don’t know if I should let something like that live.”

“You have waited a long time for him, so I understand, Your Majesty. However… as I mentioned yesterday, if he reacts to Your Majesty’s divine power, then healing him may not be entirely impossible.”

“So you’re saying I should save him?”

“He is someone Your Majesty needs, is he not?”

“Just because I need something doesn’t mean I should swallow filth.”

At Marsilia’s blunt words, the elderly physician let out a knowing smirk, wrinkles forming at the corners of his mouth. He quickly wiped his expression clean and cleared his throat.

“Ahem, but Your Majesty, from what I have observed, you are not one to give up easily.”

If I’ve waited ten years, isn’t it time to give up? Marsilia felt exhaustion creep into his bones and let out a quiet chuckle. As he swirled the liquor in his glass, the ice clinked against the sides with a crisp sound.

“The same could be said for your swordsmanship… and for mastering divine power.”

Divine power was something he had to learn for survival.

Since childhood, Marsilia had possessed divine power rivaling that of the founding emperor, but he had struggled to control it, leaking it constantly.

As a result, his stamina would quickly deplete, forcing him to train efficiency. Otherwise, he would collapse time and time again.

Thus, Marsilia studied the sacred scriptures to learn how to regulate the output of divine power. Others used simple activation phrases, but he recited lengthy scripture passages to cast his power.

If he didn’t, healing a scratch would cost him enough divine power to mend a sword wound.

Swordsmanship was the same. He had to strengthen his body to withstand the burden of his overflowing divine power, so he trained relentlessly.

His body did not respond to divine healing, so he had to fortify himself in other ways.

All of it—swordsmanship, divine mastery—wasn’t a matter of talent or ambition. He had no choice but to learn them to survive.

For Marsilia, his abundant divine power was not a blessing from the goddess. It was a curse.

Had it been a blessing, wouldn’t his life have been easier?

Yet Marsilia’s life had been nothing but suffering and hardship since the moment he first felt divine power at age four—up until now, at twenty-five.

Some might call it arrogance for a prince to complain about his circumstances.

But who would envy a life constantly hanging on the edge of death, threatened by an uncle’s assassins, burdened by his own uncontrollable power?

If there was anyone who wished for such a life, Marsilia would gladly trade places with them.

Surely, the life of a forester or a farmer would have been far easier. At least then, he would only have to worry about survival.

After struggling so much, shouldn’t I be allowed to give up on at least one thing?

Marsilia wanted to ask, but he kept his lips tightly shut, avoiding the physician’s gaze.

An emperor should never voice their regrets to anyone.

Since Marsilia first learned to walk, he had been taught that.

Thus, his suffering was his alone to bear, from birth until death.

Jaha did not wake that night either. Marsilia spent another night in his chamber.

Sword masters could go several nights without sleep without much trouble.

Yet, for some reason, he felt unbearably tired.

As dawn approached, Marsilia slumped into the couch beside the bed, gazing at the brightening sky outside.

The man on the bed remained motionless. There was no reason to keep watching him.

So Marsilia deliberately avoided looking in that direction.

And yet, he could not explain why he remained there.

Outside, Darren, another sword master, stood guard. There was no reason to feel uneasy. He could return to his own chambers and sleep.

But for some reason, he could not bring himself to leave.

He knew he was being foolish.

Perhaps it was because he felt uneasy. Jaha was a lunatic, but he was also the man Marsilia had searched for all these years.

Was he worried something might happen to him? Or was he worried he might harm someone else?

As Marsilia sat in silence, his gaze occasionally drifted toward the bed.

A pale face, a sharper jawline than before, a chest rising and falling ever so slightly.

In the dim room, Jaha looked like a monochrome painting—black, white, and nothing in between.

Will he look different in the sunlight?

Curious, Marsilia waited until the room brightened.

But nothing much changed.

Except for the faintly deeper rise and fall of Jaha’s chest.

After some time, Marsilia noticed the faint quiver of his eyelashes.

A pair of golden eyes, unfocused and hazy, slowly appeared beneath them.

Marsilia tightened his grip on the armrest of the sofa, unaware he was even doing so.