OTKL 31

Chapter : 31

Forgiveness

“Your hair is black.”

“…….”

“Small build…….”

Open your eyes. The words came out as a groan-like command. Triden, still dazed, couldn’t believe the sensation of a blade falling from his neck and asked again. “Huh? Open my eyes?” The red-haired young man spoke.

Had he heard correctly? My hair is black—so what? No, my hair isn’t even black to begin with. Slowly, Triden’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. His golden irises revealed a strange look of disappointment.

Watching the man swallow a bitter, hollow laugh, Triden had a strange thought. If he were truly insane, wouldn’t he have found an easier way than this? The question in his eyes began to outweigh his fear.

Terrencio then stood up, placed a hand on the bed, opened the window, and pulled out a heavy pistol.

Even while asleep, he was carrying that? Before Triden could even think, a gunshot rang out in an instant. Bang! The noise was louder and more deafening than he expected, and Triden flinched. When he opened his eyes again, the man was watching him.

“You’ll think you’re dead. Sleep here tonight.”

It rained all night. The plan to set a fire failed, and with him assumed dead, Triden had no idea what his remaining companions were doing.

He spent the night awake.

Late in the morning, Heron rose and gave a puzzled look at the boy with red-rimmed eyes. He nervously licked his dry lips, waiting for words to come from him.

“Did my hair turn gray overnight?”

But the question that actually came was far from what anyone expected. Was he planning to keep babbling meaningless words and drain a person’s patience? Triden furrowed his brows and spoke.

“My hair was originally blonde.”

“Well, fine.” Terrencio muttered lazily, pulling the rope placed by the bedside. Triden’s anxious eyes fixed on the doorway, wishing some kind of action or decision would come soon.

The maid who entered the room reacted entirely normally. She let out a scream at the sight of the boy sitting there as if he had sprung out of the ground overnight.

Terrencio paid her no mind, resting his chin on his hand. After a moment of thought, he gave Triden the strangest order he had ever heard in his life.

“Bring him bathwater and food, and do not let anyone leave this mansion until I call him again.”

“Wha—what……!”

The young maid looked at him strangely, then bowed and obeyed. The bewildered boy shouted, but could not resist and was led away.

What came after was not heavy enough to dwell on for a long time.

Triden spent a month in a room with a bed, eating warm meals. His body was comfortable, but his mind never was, and he tried in every way to find an escape—but every attempt failed.

It took him a week to realize that there was truly no ulterior motive behind all this.

This was neither a new kind of torture nor punishment. The would-be assassin who tried to kill him had spared him simply because he was a young vagrant, a few years younger than Triden. It was one of the dumbest things in the world.

During his time in Sanctum Callem, Triden grew at least half a handspan taller. When Terrencio finally saw the once-skinny boy now appearing as a well-fed son of a wealthy household, he let him go.

Yet, when the door opened, Triden could not leave.

While he enjoyed comfort and regained health, Terrencio’s sharp features had not softened in the slightest.

The assassination attempts continued twice more while Triden stayed in the mansion. No human being could stand by and ignore that.

“I can’t repay this favor. Let me serve you.”

At first, Triden thought that simply paying Terrencio a premium as a commission in the order of the guild would settle things.

But what happened next completely overturned his expectations. When the now much taller boy returned to town, the guild he had belonged to had vanished like a ghost.

“I don’t know that name! You should be careful too.”

“Don’t deny it. Just a month ago, you left me in debt while promising to take care of something… Hey!”

The ending, completely unforeseen, made him tense. Like it had vanished into thin air, no trace remained. Those close to the guild either kept silent no matter what or disappeared along with it.

Triden was both terrified and horrified that he was the only one with a place to return to. Instinctively, he realized that this matter would not end quickly.

Thus began a connection that stretched thinly but continuously over several years.

Triden lived under a disguised identity with the money Terrencio gave him. He prevented assassins sent after him and gathered intelligence, while Terrencio Heron’s fame as a performer only grew.

Even visits from dangerous intruders gradually decreased, as if he were protecting himself. Yet Triden could not rejoice. Despite the years passing, he could not find a single crucial clue.

Whoever orchestrated the assassination was cunning beyond measure. Terrencio never scolded him, nor did he give special encouragement—just a relationship with an appropriate distance.

Heron’s illegitimate son could act casually in public, but sometimes drew a line as if guarding against something. Triden only began to understand that first encounter fully two years later.

On the day he was unprecedentedly granted a noble title.

He returned to the mansion where Triden waited, skipping all celebrations. Triden offered the wine he brought, and Terrencio did not refuse. After a few drinks, appearing slightly pleased, Triden asked as he always did, without expectation.

“Your Excellency—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“But still, Excellency… you promised that if I grew up, you would really tell me.”

Even after all this time, how could one possibly comprehend it?

To save a boy who tried to kill him, and then make him a close aide—that was a fact only a few years ago, before he knew Terrencio’s personality well, that one could pass over.

The more he knew him, the less Triden could accept that Terrencio had spared him. Terrencio Heron was never a merciful master. The kindness he had shown Triden never resurfaced in the same way.

So Triden always felt an uneasy curiosity in his heart, wanting a direct answer.

“Why did you spare me then?”

The question was blunt. Terrencio, slightly tipsy, remained silent until Triden’s breath seemed to catch, then finally answered:

“At that time, your hair just looked black.”

It was nonsense better left unheard. How many could truly accept that they were alive today because of the dark color of a single strand of hair that night?

If you really don’t want to explain, just don’t. Triden smiled faintly at the man’s occasional foolish remarks and returned to the old house, where his six-year-old sister still looked no older than a child.

Railey always seemed like a child. Her hair had turned white from harsh medicine, her tiny frame barely suggested her actual age. Even when things seemed improved, it always ended in the same place.

Each repeated day ended in despair. The damp smell rising from the cabin, the mice that were now the sister’s only friends, and the groaning of the sick, rougher by the day.

Would this feeling ever disappear? Would a clear child’s laugh ever echo through a clean house? Or would there come a day he would even miss these groans?

The walls of the world were still high. A realm existed that money could not solve.

Even Terrencio, famous across the continent, received treatment from a physician of commoner origins. His shadow as an illegitimate child could not be hidden by a mere countship; shallow scorn and lurid rumors remained.

What hope did they have?

Triden knew deep down all this was an excuse. He had been weak then and had no choice but to take the hand of the devil extended to him.

The unknown force he could never reach in years had reached for Triden first.

A deal began with superior analgesics and new medicines unavailable in Triberal. Triden should have considered that a deal begun under the pretense of saving his sister might later threaten her life.

Before overwhelming power, he closed his eyes. Now, it was truly… irreversible.

“Answer or get inside! What do you think you’re doing!”

Unable to tolerate Triden’s silence, Alferil shouted, his breath steaming white. The merchant had frozen him in place, startled, and looked up.

Though a little irritating, he could do nothing. His concern for the young master was genuine.

As he trudged back to the cabin, a voice stopped him.

“Alferil, wait—”

“What is it?”

The merchant frowned. Alferil’s black hair stood out against the white snow.

Triden stayed silent. It had already been years. It was strange he still remembered Terrencio’s passing remark.

“Nothing.”

Alferil gave him a suspicious glance, then entered the cabin.

“And start preparing yourself. The date on the invitation is already tomorrow.”

The man followed, closing the door, speaking directly to her. Thinking it was just Triden’s muttering, she initially did not react, then turned to ask:

“What do you mean by that?”

“I understand your feelings, but it’s not because I like rushing you. This is not a place you can avoid. You’ll be fine. I won’t leave and will stay by his side.”

Alferil blinked at the incomprehensible words. Triden then stared at her with a strange expression and raised his voice in embarrassment:

“Didn’t you read the letter?”