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Chapter 7
Wanting to lighten the awkward atmosphere, Ethan kept talking nonstop after that.
Most of what he chattered about were stories from long ago, when they had once visited the Marquis’ estate.
He reminisced about the sour berry tea that could only be tasted in the northwest during summer, the goat cheese, grilled wild mushrooms, and other delicacies they had enjoyed, as well as the times they had ridden horses together through mountains and fields.
“At the time, young master, you couldn’t even ride a horse. One day, my lord carried you up on his saddle, but you were so frightened you burst into tears. He had the hardest time trying to calm you down! Hahaha!”
But despite Ethan’s tireless efforts, Rune only gave indifferent answers like, “I see,” or “Is that so.”
What’s more, for some reason Rune’s expression gradually grew more and more troubled.
Hm. He doesn’t seem to be reacting much at all.
Ethan racked his brain for something they could relate to, when suddenly an idea struck him. Ah, that’s it!
“By now, you’d be able to spar properly with Lord Cailien! Ever since Grand Duke Carlo fell ill, my lord has been so busy. It’s been ages since the two of you crossed swords. It would be wonderful to see again!”
Contrary to Ethan’s excitement, Rune’s face grew even more uneasy as he rubbed the back of his neck.
“…Sparring, you say?”
Ah—so this wasn’t it either.
“Enough, Ethan.”
Unable to watch anymore, Cailien sighed and cut him off.
“Tell the Dark Knights as well. They’re forbidden from sparring with the Light Knights out of some petty competitiveness.”
It was true that in his excitement, he had been a little more talkative than usual. But still—was it really worth scolding him over a few words? Scratching his cheek awkwardly, Ethan replied,
“Ah… yes. Well, the men are probably itching to move their bodies, though.”
It was instinct for knights to want to test themselves against the strong.
Despite their fame spreading all the way to the capital, it was rare for anyone to face the Light Knights from the northwest frontier. No doubt, many of the Dark Knights were eager for a chance to cross swords with them.
“If anyone dares break the rule, I’ll personally scratch that itch for them.”
“Ugh, I’ll be the first to pass on that, thank you.”
Ethan shook his head with a grimace. Clearly, “scratching their itch” wasn’t going to mean anything gentle.
Still feeling wrongly chastised, Ethan pouted and muttered,
“Really, there’s no need to be so touchy. I only brought it up because both of you used to love sparring so much. Isn’t that right, young master…?”
But as he turned to Rune, his eyes widened. Cailien, too, halted in his tracks to look back.
At some point, Rune had stopped walking, frozen in place behind them.
“I…”
Now completely flustered, Rune could only open and close his lips wordlessly.
It was something he had expected might happen. After all, these two had been away from the Empire all this time—there was no way they could know about his current condition.
Swallowing hard, Rune steeled his jaw as if making a decision.
“I fear this may be rude to say, but…”
Better to speak before things grew even more awkward.
“The truth is… I don’t remember either of you.”
Unlike them, no memories remained within him.
A moment of heavy silence fell between the three of them.
Then, like time snapping back into motion, Cailien suddenly strode forward, his face sharp and intense.
Grabbing Rune’s wrist in a fierce grip, he yanked him forward.
“My lord!”
Ethan panicked, shifting his weight from foot to foot, as if something terrible was about to happen.
Cailien’s tightly pressed lips slowly parted.
“That dagger. You said you’ve always kept it with you.”
Why was he so fixated on his dagger? Rune, startled by Cailien’s nearness, managed to stammer out a reply.
“It’s just… something I’ve carried out of habit, for as long as I can remember.”
“Habit? Ha…”
His expression looked almost incredulous. Rune, bewildered, asked,
“Do you know something about this dagger?”
“Is that what matters right now?”
The low, growling voice cut into Rune’s ear, sharp with restrained anger.
He had only asked out of curiosity—why was Cailien this furious? He couldn’t understand it at all.
“I’ll ask you again. You truly don’t remember me?”
Those black eyes, almost desperate in their intensity, bore into his. Rune’s lips parted hesitantly.
He knew it wasn’t the answer the man wanted. But it was the only one he had.
“Yes… I’m sorry.”
Cailien’s hand dropped limply from his wrist.
Ethan slumped onto a sofa with a sigh and clicked his tongue.
“Why are you taking it so hard?”
Cailien let out a dry, incredulous laugh, turning to him.
“Hard? Who, me?”
“Who else would it be?”
Ethan’s eyes landed squarely on him.
“Ridiculous.”
Cailien’s brow arched as he removed his armor piece by piece. Hard? No—it felt closer to resentment.
“I don’t remember you.”
He recalled Rune speaking of his condition with surprising composure.
“Then please, rest well.”
And without the faintest clue that he had just upended someone else’s heart, Rune had turned away calmly, as if nothing had happened. The image of that serene back left Cailien feeling strangely hollow.
Ethan, too, shrugged helplessly.
“I’d heard he had suffered a fever, but to lose his memories too? That was quite a shock.”
Choosing his words carefully, aware of Cailien’s sour mood, Ethan added,
“The attendants say his memories from around age ten are especially incomplete. Still… my lord must remember at least a little, don’t you think?”
“No. He’s forgotten me entirely.”
The metal clinked as Cailien unfastened a plate, his lips twisting into a bitter smile.
He hadn’t even recognized the dagger properly.
“Enough. What does it matter, old things like that.”
Whether Rune remembered him or not didn’t matter. Surely this unpleasant feeling had nothing to do with that.
“Ha. Unbelievable.”
And yet, his insides burned as if set aflame.
Seeing the fire in his eyes, Ethan clucked his tongue inwardly and spoke in a more reassuring tone.
“Every summer, he used to visit the Marquis’ estate. In time, I’m sure some memories will return.”
After all, for Rune to forget him of all people—it was only natural for Cailien to react so strongly.
“Enough. You’re noisy. Leave me.”
Narrowing his eyes, Ethan watched him head for the bath. The way he roughly raked his hair back betrayed the agitation his words tried to conceal.
He keeps saying ‘enough,’ but clearly he’s hurt.
Steam rose from the bath filled with clean, warm water.
“Now this… feels like living.”
Leaning back in the tub, Cailien brushed his wet hair leisurely away from his face. With Ethan gone from sight, his mind finally felt at ease.
He had granted the Dark Knights leave to rest until dinner. Overcome with joy, Ethan had even wiped away tears before rushing off. By now, the knights were surely recovering from their long, weary journey.
“Haa…”
The heat of the water melted away the tension in his muscles. Compared to the scorching sun and grit of the desert, those days had been anything but pleasant.
A breeze drifted in through the small window, cooling the damp air of the bath. The northern wind, refreshing and brisk, was a sensation he hadn’t felt in a long time. He was well accustomed to the Marquis’ summers, having visited year after year.
Years had passed. Summers had come and gone.
“Was it really so easy… to forget?”
Forcing away the image of a certain face mingled with the scent of summer grass, Cailien closed his eyes.
Yes—this feeling swelling in his chest was surely nothing but resentment.
The light tunic his attendants had prepared fit him well. Free from the weight of armor, Cailien walked with ease. Before dinner, he intended to pay his respects properly to the Marquis.
Even with his close friendship with Grand Duke Carlo, the Marquis’ reclusive habits made the opening of the gates no small gesture.
And… there are questions I want to ask about that boy.
The polished marble floors stretched on, adorned with elegant, old-fashioned carvings.
“The Marquis’ tastes haven’t changed.”
Just like his disdain for excess, the castle wasn’t gaudy, but it held a restrained elegance. Ahead, where the corridor opened into the central hall and a wide staircase rose, a large portrait caught Cailien’s eye.
‘Lady Claire Este’
It was the late Marchioness, who had passed away young. Her silver hair was elegantly pinned, and her expression soft and kind.
Looking into her folded blue eyes, Rune came to mind again.
That boy… pretty like his mother.
Having grown visibly, he now strongly resembled her. His once-round features had sharpened, and his fair skin glowed softly.
The boy who used to faint at the sight of blood—he looked like a knight at last.
At least his talent with the sword had been inherited from the Marquis Este.
His efficient, refined movements and sharp instincts in combat…
The boy who had once barely lifted a sword was now entirely different.
It’s been two years since I last saw him properly.
He realized suddenly how long that was. Long enough for a child who had once reached only his chest to now stand nearly at his chin.
Lost in thought, Cailien soon found himself before the Marquis’ office. Raising his hand to knock, he froze.
“What on earth were you thinking, involving yourself in this matter?!”
The Marquis’ furious voice rang out from inside, echoing all the way down the corridor.
