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Chapter : 30
Someone’s Circumstance
After his head grew a little, Triden used his sharp wits and silver tongue to enter a back-alley guild. It was only later that he realized it wasn’t the ordinary guild he had imagined.
The wages earned by being part of a group were incomparable to what he had managed to beg for alone until now.
The first silver coin he ever held, he gave entirely a few days later for the medicine of his six-year-old younger sister. Triden felt happy at her laughter when she said it was the first time she had felt so light since getting a new prescription.
Astonishingly, he felt happiness. For a boy who had lived a thoroughly calculated life, the one being he truly loved was a sister who only ever took from him. He couldn’t even understand how he could tolerate that contradiction.
Once he had used good medicine, he didn’t want to switch. He wanted to feed her meat instead of rotten potatoes, and next winter, he wanted to provide a warmer blanket. The boy still didn’t know how to hide his restlessness.
And there were always more people ready to take advantage of it.
When Triden turned fifteen, and his sister Railey was seven—an age meant for running freely through the streets—the boy stabbed a human heart for the first time.
It was a low-ranking official he had seen somewhere. Someone’s grudge had flowed in the form of money, passing through the guild master and his subordinates, finally reaching him.
The guild Triden had crawled into on his own received requests for murder. His colleagues didn’t console him; instead, they muttered it was something he would inevitably have to do someday, asking if he hadn’t already guessed it.
Everyone pushed him to the ends of the world. He felt nauseous but couldn’t show it outwardly. That day, the money Triden received while hiding his cold sweat was twice the daily wage he had earned running errands until then.
Unlike other swindlers, the guild master didn’t hesitate to give a portion to an unrelated boy. It was a precaution against any future backlash.
By luck, it was fortunate. Triden returned home and used the blood money on Railey, who had always been a bother. Even just curing an infection, he had always been a trembling little wretch.
Instead, he spent a fortune to summon a reputed old doctor from the back streets. For now, maintaining this was all that mattered.
Triden didn’t realize he was among those who drove him forward.
“Triden, I’m fine. Stay home with me next Sabbath. Let’s play dice.”
The boy didn’t hear it. To cure a sister whose illness he didn’t even understand, he would have to go to the capital—maybe even to a private hospital treating only nobles… or perhaps leave the kingdom entirely.
“I’ll do anything you ask. You saw last time! I killed someone and felt nothing. It was my first time. The second time should be even easier.”
He feigned calm while speaking words he didn’t mean. It didn’t matter if he looked like a fool blinded by money. He begged the senior of the guild like a spoiled child.
“Just because you killed someone doesn’t mean you’re special! I really don’t have anything for you.”
“There’s that client who comes to the guild every day! I’m not blind.”
“That’s not something for a kid like you. The higher the pay, the greater the risk! If you don’t want to die, wait until you’re an adult.”
The guild men liked Triden in their own way. He was fast, perceptive, and attentive. They could order him to commit murder, but they didn’t want to throw him into the fire.
But their attempt to calm him only stirred him more.
“High pay, you say?”
“You’ve heard what I said so far—”
“How much is it for this job?”
The man pursed his lips several times and exhaled with a metallic sigh. The fact that he hadn’t outright refused suggested some hesitation.
Terrencio Heron. Triden heard that name for the first time.
Heron? The boy doubted his ears. Hearing the birth background of a bastard he hadn’t even known existed was maddening. The grand duke of the kingdom dared attach a noble surname to a lowly bastard—a deed that even low-ranking officials wouldn’t commit.
Still, it worked in Triden’s favor. Many fools had forfeited the opportunity for a big score just because of the surname Heron. Triden wanted money desperately.
The assassination of Terrencio Heron was, surprisingly, conducted in secrecy. No one knew the client except the guild master, and the only certainty was the large reward each would receive.
The youngest, Triden, became bait. At night, he would sneak in first to distract the bastard while the rest would follow and set the mansion on fire.
It took three full months just to plan and bribe those necessary for the mission.
Even a mature boy would feel tense as the day approached. Hands sweaty, he set off on the long journey.
Saint Callem was enormous, almost intimidating.
The strange surrounding mist and the colossal mansion overwhelmed him. He worried whether a single pillar would fall if they set it on fire.
The day of the mission was a sultry summer night, chosen to match the fire.
“Okay, I can do this,” Triden whispered, entering Saint Callem. Familiar colleagues reminded him to stay alert.
Despite the mansion’s grand exterior, the path inside was extremely flimsy. According to a maid, Terrencio’s temper left very few servants in the main building.
The closer Triden got, the more believable her words became. He squeezed through a window propped open by a bribed maid.
Finally, he set foot inside. The massive interior was eerily silent.
Masked, he recalled the map he memorized. Left here, right there, straight ahead… He climbed quietly to the second-floor bedroom.
Several times, he passed doors with light spilling out. He swallowed nervously, lips twitching occasionally.
“A difficult target for his age. Killing immediately would be better, but don’t be greedy. The priority is to keep his feet in the mansion.”
Following the instructions, Triden stopped before a door like any other. He cautiously turned the handle.
Inside was an empty room.
It was shabby, unbefitting a noble who enjoyed luxury. Doubting the map, he stepped back—when he noticed an old bed behind a piano. Lying on it was a young man sleeping.
Dark red hair, tall frame—features he had heard of a hundred times as Heron’s.
Triden didn’t know whether to cheer or sigh. The young man was deep asleep.
No need to distract him or draw a weapon to keep him in place. He considered leaving, but then an odd bloodlust surged within him.
Tall and well-built. But that was all. Despite his position, the young lord’s cheeks were strangely hollow, and his face pale.
Triden fumbled the dagger in his pocket, his mask damp with sweat.
Excitement and fear consumed him. Success meant securing his place in the guild, perhaps saving up for medicine.
The sleeping man’s face was astonishingly neat. The boy braced himself, closing his eyes tightly.
Just as he was about to stab, a gray-eyed gaze opened in the dark. At unbelievable speed, an arm snatched Triden’s wrist.
Clang! The dagger slipped from his hand. Terrencio caught it reflexively.
“…You came to kill me,” the deep voice murmured.
The boy froze.
The man frowned, blinked a few times, and, as if waking from sleep, regarded both the boy and the dagger.
“You wouldn’t seriously send a kid like you. Just a decoy to stall?”
It was a trivial question. Triden couldn’t gauge the time that passed. The fire was still far.
“Hmm, I roughly understand your intentions… a carefully chosen day wasted, unfortunately.”
Terrencio noticed Triden glance at the window. Before the boy could comprehend the comment, a horrifying noise pierced his ears.
Thick raindrops began pounding the glass.
The boy’s disbelief shook him. He had chosen the day after checking records that said it never rained this season. The sweltering evening had been so still.
How unlucky could one be? Or was the man blessed?
For the first time, Triden cursed his fate. The familiar texture of his weapon pressed against his neck; he gasped. Fear turned to resignation.
He closed his eyes, bracing for pain. He couldn’t even think of his sister. But instead of death, a voice colder than death reached him.
“You… have black hair.”
