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Chapter 39
Shadow (4)
When dawn’s chill wrapped around the castle, Ian, looking somewhat pale, quietly appeared in Linda’s room.
He had come in through the second-floor window and deliberately made some noise.
Awakened by the sound of Ian’s cough, Linda opened her eyes.
The lord was sitting in a chair by her desk. Startled, she saw Ian give her an awkward smile.
“Sorry for waking you. Could you check my wounds?”
“You’re injured?”
Linda, calming her startled heart, hurriedly got out of bed and lit the lamp.
“My goodness, what happened to you?”
The lord’s white clothes were soaked red with blood.
“Just a little hurt.”
Ian glanced down at himself as he spoke.
On his way back to the castle, he had found some fresh clothes, discarding the ones he had fought in and bathing in the river.
But his wounds bled enough to stain even the clean clothes scarlet.
“That’s not a little injury at all.”
Seeing his wounds, Linda ran downstairs and returned with medicine and stitching tools.
“Chew on these herbs. They’ll ease the pain.”
Ian accepted the bluish herb with numbing properties, put it in his mouth, and chewed slowly. The bitter taste made him frown.
“Nothing sweet instead? This is awful.”
“This isn’t the time for jokes. Hold still.”
With a serious expression, Linda carefully cleaned and stitched the gashes along his side and back.
Ian, not wanting to disturb her work, fell quiet and stared into the small flame flickering inside the glass lamp.
“Does it hurt?”
After a while, Linda asked softly as she worked.
“I can endure.”
“It looks like you’ve just come back from a major battle. What happened?”
“I hurt myself while training alone.”
Her doubtful voice was barely more than a murmur.
“If that were true, you would have sent for my father or me. You wouldn’t come sneaking here in secret.”
“Is that so?”
“You’re hiding something, aren’t you? Even these clothes… they’re commoners’ clothes.”
“Is that so?”
Ian only smiled, repeating the same words. Linda sighed quietly.
“Forgive me for prying. I was just upset. Please don’t get hurt again.”
Her voice carried genuine sincerity—it struck not the head, but the heart.
“True. Once I become stronger, I won’t be hurt again.”
Ian’s gaze deepened as he looked out the window.
The brightening dawn sky heralded a new day.
“All done, my lord.”
Finishing her stitching, Linda tightly wrapped his torso in clean bandages.
“As expected of you, Linda. It almost feels healed already.”
“Please don’t say things like that. You mustn’t move too much for now.”
As she bent slightly to put her tools away in a box, her long dark hair swayed and brushed her cheeks.
Simple, yet beautiful.
Would she still treat me this kindly if she knew I wasn’t the real Ian? Linda seemed to pity the true Ian…
Maybe she would even grieve upon learning he was dead.
“Linda, do you like the old me… or the me now?”
“Pardon? What do you mean?”
“I mean, compare me before I lost my memories and me after. Which one do you prefer?”
Ian looked away, feigning distraction around her room as if embarrassed.
Finding it amusing, Linda chuckled softly.
“Do you want the truth?”
“Yes, the truth.”
“Then… now. I like the present you better.”
“That’s a relief.”
Ian suppressed a smile, coughing a few times instead.
“By the way, how’s Cain? Do you think he can decipher the dungeon’s book?”
Ian, perhaps embarrassed by his earlier question, quickly changed the subject.
“Yes, he’s beyond expectation. He’s like a true linguistic genius. Just one glance and he knew what kind of script it was, and even the content. It seems only a matter of time before a full translation is ready.”
“Then the chance of creating a cure has increased?”
At the lord’s question, Linda’s eyes flickered slightly.
She had promised Ian in the dungeon that she would make the cure. If she failed, responsibility would fall on her.
But just last night, Cain had confided his pessimism—such a damaged manuscript might not yield a cure at all.
Seeing her wavering eyes, Ian spoke with gentle warmth.
“Don’t burden yourself. It’s fine even if you fail.”
“But—”
“Just treat it like studying. Do your research without being bound to the cure. Who knows? You may discover something else worthwhile along the way.”
Linda was moved by the unexpected kindness of his encouragement. She nodded firmly.
“I’ll do my best.”
“Good. Then I’ll be going. I’ll see you again at morning study. Though I suppose you’ll greet me with sleepy eyes.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
As she opened the door, she suddenly sensed something odd and looked back.
But the lord, who had just been there, was gone without a trace.
She stood in shock, staring at the empty room, then rushed to the window.
Peering below, there was no sign of him.
He had come silently, and vanished just as silently, without her even noticing.
She was amazed at how he could leave such a sealed room unseen.
She lingered for a while, gazing down the road toward the lord’s manor, then turned back to her desk.
A pile of bloodied cloths from treating him lay stacked in a corner.
As she cleaned them away, something shiny caught her eye.
“Hm? What’s this…”
She picked it up.
It was a small seashell, the kind only found near the ocean.
“Did the lord leave this behind?”
Holding the spiral shell up to the lamplight, she smiled faintly.
“It’s pretty.”
Temple (1)
“So this will be my last meal in this house.”
The treasurer looked at the breakfast laid on the table with a heavy expression.
On that nightmarish evening when he begged the lord for his life, he had promised not only to hand over the wealth he had embezzled, but even this house.
Other than the castle, this was the largest residence in Kyamyu. He had poured tremendous effort and money into building it.
The tall walls, the well-kept gardens, the pond and fountain, the grand mansion built by hundreds of workers—this was his pride.
When foreign guests came to meet the lord, he often hosted them here instead of the castle, treating them to banquets.
Thus, he had established himself as the true power in the domain.
But today, he would be leaving it.
His era was over. Almost absurdly so.
“Perhaps if I wait, another chance will come.”
Closing his eyes, he prayed to God that the lord would fall ill again, then dipped the fresh, fragrant bread into warm soup, bringing it toward his lips—
“Treasurer! Someone from the castle is here!”
He froze, bread in hand, then slowly set it back on the plate.
“What is it?”
Stepping outside, he found a castle guard waiting in the corridor.
“By order of the lord, you are to come to the castle immediately.”
“Right now?”
“Yes, Treasurer.”
Frowning, he gazed out the long corridor windows.
The garden birds had just begun their morning songs—it was far too early for the lord’s day to have begun.
“Did something happen at the castle?”
“I do not know. I was only told to deliver the order.”
“Very well. You may go.”
“Yes, sir.”
As the soldier departed, he looked back at the bread on the table.
Now soaked and limp in the soup.
“Damn it!”
Crash!
The plate went flying, shattering against the wall.
“Ready the carriage!”
Arriving at the castle in foul spirits, the treasurer encountered the magistrate at the manor entrance.
Their relationship had grown cold of late. The treasurer brushed past with barely a greeting.
“Leaving your house, I hear?”
The magistrate’s words made veins bulge on the treasurer’s forehead.
“Yes. I vacate it today.”
“A shame. You poured so much effort into it.”
The magistrate spoke with a hint of a smile, making the treasurer halt and glare at him.
“How can you change your colors so quickly? Aren’t you ashamed? Clinging to the lord like a sycophant, pretending to repent for your past misdeeds. And no doubt slandering me in the process!”
“Admitting one’s wrongs is the true duty of a vassal. You still have far to go.”
The magistrate tapped his knee as he ascended the stairs.
The walls were lined with framed portraits of past lords of Albern.
“Do you know the fundamental difference between you and me?” he asked as he climbed.
“Go on, say it.”
The treasurer followed behind, scowling.
“I descend from a knightly family that has served House Albern for centuries. Your family only planted its roots here some fifty years ago—your father’s time.”
“The Albern knights scattered ages ago.”
But the magistrate’s voice remained steady.
“That’s why bloodline matters. The way we regard the lord and this land—it’s not the same.”
“And yet you took my money for years and ignored the lord.”
“I am human too. A frail lord, unfit to rule, was distasteful to me. But now the lord has changed. So I must change as well. That is only natural, is it not?”
The treasurer longed to strike the back of his smug head.
“Do you know what people call someone like you? An opportunist. I, at least, am consistent. That makes me more human.”
“That’s just your view. Either way, abandon your delusions. After the beating the lord gave you, you still haven’t come to your senses?”
“Why bring that up again?”
His face twisted with displeasure, the treasurer lowered his voice, glancing up and down the stairwell.
If word spread that the lord had beaten him, his dignity would be utterly ruined. It would be worse than death.
“Enough slander. To say I haven’t come to my senses—such words only sow misunderstanding with the lord.”
As they neared the lord’s office, the treasurer cleared his throat, deciding to end the quarrel.
Continuing it would only harm him further.
But when the two stepped inside, they froze in shock, staring at the floor.
Spread across the red carpet was a massive war map—the kind only brought out in times of battle.
As large as two beds pushed together, it depicted every village, road, mountain, river, forest, lake, and plain in the domain—details far beyond an ordinary map.
It even marked key terrain and choke points to secure if the land were ever invaded.
This single map revealed the entirety of Albern.
That was why it was kept under strict guard, brought out only in emergencies for the lord’s military decisions.
“My lord, did you sleep well?”
The magistrate and treasurer bowed deeply to Ian, who was studying the map.
Leaning on a long command staff, Ian lifted his head to regard them.
“When I summon you, come faster. The castle is right here—why so slow?”
“Our apologies, my lord.”
Though they had hurried, both men swallowed their protests and begged forgiveness.
“The reason I’ve called you at this hour… is this village here.”
Ian tapped a southern coastal village on the map with his staff.
“That would be Randen, my lord?”
The magistrate recognized it immediately.
“Yes. You’ve been there?”
“Not recently, but long ago. A quiet fishing village. But why—”
“Last night, a slave trader called Crom led over two hundred men in a raid on Randen.”
“What?”
The magistrate’s expression hardened in shock.
“Fortunately, his men were all killed, and Crom himself captured. But the damage was great. Half the village burned, and dozens of lives were lost.”
Ian gazed grimly down at the coastline marked on the map.
