RODH Chapter 13

13.

Nevan found Ian’s intense gaze overwhelming, yet he couldn’t bring himself to refuse his request.

“Perhaps you could tell me about the crops in your territory, or the wyvern you recently defeated?”

“Is that all you’re curious about?”

Ian’s brow furrowed faintly, as if lost in thought.

What could he be pondering now?

Nevan had expected the young Ruben heir to ask something trivial, like whether parties were held in the North. But so far, Ian hadn’t seemed like the type to care about such frivolities—neither at his coming-of-age ceremony nor in private.

While Klain had labeled Ian as someone indulgent in luxury and excess, Nevan’s instincts told him otherwise.

This was someone with a purpose.

“What are northern knights like? I’ve only encountered the Imperial Guard and the southern retainers, so I’m not familiar with their northern counterparts.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes, that’s everything. I love hearing stories.”

“You could always listen to a storyteller’s account of the North.”

“They’re all braggarts. I’d rather hear directly from someone who’s lived there. It’s bound to be more accurate.”

Ian had a point. Many wandering storytellers prioritized profit over authenticity, spreading tales without even verifying their origins.

“In the North, most crops consist of hardy root vegetables and berries that can withstand the cold. We also hunt bears or bison occasionally to provide meat for the people.”

“Do you have a way to preserve the meat? In the South, they salt and dry it into thin slices.”

“We typically butcher and consume the meat right away. Anything leftover doesn’t spoil in our climate, but we do store it in personal ice cellars to avoid attracting monsters.”

Nevan also explained that cedar was often sprinkled around ice cellars to mask the scent of blood.

Ian absorbed every word, as if mentally recording the information with an ink pen.

Perrost, the land described in these records, felt like a place of uncharted mysteries. Ian couldn’t understand why Berkisto had only left such sparse notes about the North.

“Do you also boil deer antlers to eat them?” Ian asked suddenly.

“When deer antlers naturally shed, we collect them and use them in medicine for the frail. Northerners generally revere deer as sacred creatures, so we don’t hunt or eat them.”

“Wow. It’s truly a world apart from the South.”

“Is it very different?”

“Yes. In the South, there’s no particular superstition about deer. They’re hunted every year without fail.”

At the mention of deer hunting, Nevan’s face briefly tightened, a fleeting sign of displeasure.

“Oh, don’t misunderstand me. I’ve never hunted a deer myself,” Ian quickly clarified.

“Deer are guides for the lost. Hunting such sacred creatures is the act of savages….”

“…”

Nevan’s words trailed off as if he were speaking to the air. Then he turned to Ian and finished his thought.

“My father once said so.”

“Do you feel the same, Your Grace?”

“I’m not particularly interested in deer. But,” Nevan added, “if my people believe in such things, it’s my duty to honor those beliefs.”

Ian exhaled softly, impressed by Nevan’s conviction.

A honey-sweet scent spread gently around him, a subtle sign of his admiration.

“Lord Ruben,” Nevan said, his tone sharp yet calm.

“Yes?”

“Your pheromones are overflowing.”

“Ah.”

Ian hastily reined them in, bowing slightly. “Apologies. It happens sometimes when I’m in a good mood. Please don’t misunderstand.”

“I don’t,” Nevan replied.

Looking at Nevan, Ian impulsively said, “Your Grace is quite different from what the rumors say.”

“What rumors?”

“They say you’re taciturn and curt. But to me, you seem like the one with the most to say tonight.”

Ian’s cheerful laugh was met with a moment’s hesitation from Nevan before he replied, “And you, Lord Ruben, are quite unlike your reputation as well.”

“Ah, I…”

Ian was suddenly reminded of his past misdeeds—drinking himself into a stupor at parties or pulling inappropriate pranks. The memories left him too embarrassed to respond.

Sensing Ian’s silence, Nevan spoke again.

“People can change overnight.”

“…”

“For whatever reason.”

Ian’s chest tightened at those words.

If someone had been there to tell him this during his four lifetimes of pain and death, could he have changed earlier?

“Lord Ruben?” Nevan asked, noticing his distant expression.

Ian sniffled awkwardly and took a sip of his now-cold tea. “I think the cold is making my nose run.”

“Then allow me to…”

Nevan reached for his sleeve to tear it again, but Ian quickly stopped him.

“No need. And about earlier, thank you.”

As he thought of Nevan’s earlier act of kindness, the memory of the crisp green scent soothed him.

Come to think of it, Seor had never once released his pheromones near him.

While that spoke of tremendous self-control, it also made Seor seem like someone burdened by compulsive perfectionism.

If Seor had possessed the same warm and comforting scent as Nevan, Ian wondered if he might have forgiven him—at least a little.

The thought lingered, and Ian, wanting to shift the heavy atmosphere, asked, “I heard there are legends passed down in Kirias.”

But perhaps his choice of topic wasn’t appropriate.

The faintly pleasant pheromones that had surrounded Nevan moments ago vanished in an instant.

In their place, an icy, menacing aura spread around him like frost.

Realizing he might have offended the Grand Duke, Ian quickly apologized. “I’m sorry. If the topic displeased you…”

Nevan stood abruptly. “It’s late. I should retire for the evening. Thank you for the tea, Lord Ruben.”

Without another word, he walked toward the guesthouse, his figure disappearing into the shadows of the trees.

Ian remained behind, clutching the empty cup and silently berating himself for bringing up such a topic.

Morning came as it always did, but I greeted it with a heavy heart and a sleep-deprived body.

Standing by to see off Seor and Nevan, I could barely suppress a yawn.

Before boarding his carriage, Seor turned to me.

“I’ll see you at the next lesson, Ian Pearl Ruben.”

“Yes,” I replied curtly, my attention shifting to Nevan.

Whatever awkwardness lingered from the previous night seemed to have vanished. Nevan gave a small bow before mounting his horse with practiced ease.

“Are you leaving just like that?”

The words escaped me before I could stop them, a tinge of worry coloring my tone.

Nevan paused, his sharp gaze meeting mine, as if he were trying to decipher my thoughts.

As Seor’s carriage rolled away, I hurriedly asked Bain to prepare two satchels filled with dried meat and bread.

“Please forgive my rudeness last night, Your Grace,” I said, handing one to Nevan and the other to his retainer.

Nevan’s expression softened, though it could have been my imagination.

“The matter of the legend…” he began, trailing off.

“…”

“…is something the southerners know better than I. Your father, Duke Ruben, might be able to answer your curiosity.”

With those parting words, Nevan’s horse neighed and galloped forward.

A legend tied to Kirias?

Unable to quell my curiosity, I headed straight for my father’s study. But to my dismay, he had already left for the palace.

As I stood debating what to do next, Mother appeared.

“Ian, is something the matter?”

“Mother, do you know anything about the legend of Kirias?”

Her face, which had always been so gentle and warm, suddenly turned grave.

“Come to my room, dear. Let’s have tea while we talk.”

It had been a long time since I’d sat in Mother’s room for tea.

She dismissed the maids and closed the doors, ensuring no one could overhear our conversation. The secrecy only made my curiosity grow.

Finally, after a deep breath, she spoke.

“Kirias has a long-standing curse. The family will bear only one son in each generation. Unless someone brings spring to Kirias, the curse will persist, and its heirs will endure the solitude of the snowy mountains until their final breath.”

“Is that… the legend? It sounds more like a…”

“Yes, Ian. It’s not a legend; it’s a curse. An ancient one at that.”

Mother took a sip of rose tea brewed from petals dried last summer.

“They say the curse was placed upon Kirias’s first patriarch when he slew a demon lord.”

“That explains why their extended family died young,” I murmured.

“There’s little known about demons even now, but many believe that’s the reason.”

‘So, I essentially poked at one of their greatest weaknesses, asking about it so casually?’

The realization hit me like a hammer, leaving me momentarily stunned.

Mother called my name a few times before I snapped out of it.

“You didn’t cause trouble for His Grace, did you, Ian?”

Her question stung, but I couldn’t tell her the truth.

Mother’s frail heart wouldn’t handle the stress of knowing I’d overstepped.

“Not at all. I even packed some provisions for their journey.”

“Oh, well done. You’ve always been such a handful, Ian, but now you’ve grown so much…”

Tears glistened in her eyes, and I quickly handed her a handkerchief.

“Don’t cry, Mother. I’ll protect you from now on.”

“Thank you, Ian.”

Her gratitude warmed me, but I couldn’t suppress a bitter smile.

Throughout my five lives, my family had always been devoted and selfless.

The real problem was me. Everything hinged on the choices I made moving forward.

For the first time, I felt the weight of true responsibility pressing on my shoulders.

I couldn’t help but wonder—had Nevan felt this same burden too?