🔊 TTS Settings
Chapter : 23
People’s eyes followed Tris wherever he moved.
When he went left, they rolled left, and when he went right, they rolled right.
No one even dared breathe properly.
Tris was tall—nearly one meter ninety—but he was so agile that even his footsteps made no sound.
Since childhood, he’d been obsessed with swords, hugging one to sleep every night, and despite being a duke’s son, he was so down-to-earth that he could always be found among the common folk.
No one had ever found him frightening.
Whether he stayed silent or gave an order, there was never the slightest unease.
But now, in this disheveled state, pacing back and forth like that, mouths went dry on their own.
Gulp. Someone swallowed hard.
Sensing the ominous mood, everyone hesitated and watched Tris.
The air in Dello Castle froze in an instant.
At last, unable to stand it, Peta spoke up for him.
“We’re leaving the estate.”
“What? We, sir?”
“Tris and I.”
Ron’s eyes went wide. His voice squeaked up an octave.
“Why?”
This time, Tris answered himself.
“I’m leaving because my father and I stand too far apart.”
Ron blurted,
“Then… can I come with you?”
“What?”
“I’m going with you. There’s no point staying here if you’re gone, Tris.”
Peta cautioned him.
“Ron, this isn’t a trip.”
Ron said earnestly,
“I know. Please, let me follow you.”
Haah… Tris scrubbed at his hair and sighed.
“Please. I’ll do anything. Whatever you order.”
Ron wasn’t joking. He meant every word.
He truly wanted to follow Tris.
Feeling that sincerity, the storm churning inside finally began to settle.
Now that the heat had drained out of him, the pain crept in and demanded attention.
He would have to take care of his body.
He would be leaving the nest.
Tris sat down on a chair in the hall.
“Peta, my face.”
“Alright.”
Peta quickly examined his wounds.
The cut reaching up to his ear was intentional—he had done it on purpose.
He had shown what happened when one defied his father.
Had the blade sunk even a little deeper…
A chill ran through him, and he shuddered involuntarily.
Peta cleaned the blood and muttered,
“It’ll scar.”
Tris replied blandly,
“Of course.”
He had cut himself with intent; of course it would scar.
But the thought unexpectedly led him to Emblin.
Four months had already passed since the scandal.
Her wound—which had looked like she’d been crushed by something blunt—would surely leave a scar as well.
After that, what had she done?
Had she raged as he did and turned her back on her father?
Or had she quietly submitted, accepting the fate given to her?
Tris gave a bitter smile.
There was no need to think—of course it would be the latter.
Submission.
Because she was a woman.
Even as a man, turning one’s back was nearly impossible—madness that earned a lifetime of ridicule.
How could a woman bear it?
Her cold gaze suddenly surfaced in his mind.
Those turquois eyes, saturated with pride—deep and blue enough to seem unreal.
Knowing her pride, she must be enduring agony unlike anything he’d imagined.
It wasn’t his fault, and yet, it weighed on him.
Damn it.
The curse rose automatically in his throat.
The Ackerus king and Duke Ake—neither of them deserved to be called father.
They were power-mad men borrowing the name.
He wished she could see that too—so she could free herself, even a little.
But with Queen Meril working against her, that was unlikely.
Tris felt nothing at all for his parents.
They were merely people he’d been tangled with by birth, nothing more.
He had never felt warmth from them.
He had been born the eldest son and heir, required to excel at everything.
He had been raised entirely by a wet nurse, and from age four, education began.
He was the duke’s heir.
Lessons were difficult from the start—Latin and letters, mathematics, architecture, even basic medicine.
Swordsmanship and tactics—the fundamentals of fundamentals—were trained every day.
Regardless of his age, his lessons were brutal.
If he failed, he was beaten; if he faltered, they drove him until his soul left his body.
Crying was forbidden. Stopping midway was even worse.
After a full year of breaking bones figuratively and literally, by age five he simply stopped crying.
Duke Ake cared deeply about appearances, flaunting affection for his children.
But he was arrogant and saw no one outside the nobility as human; lineage and power were everything.
Duchess Mari was not much different.
It had been a marriage of convenience, and she had fulfilled her duty by producing an heir.
Fortunately, she treated Aden and the younger siblings somewhat differently—especially Idela, whom she doted on without guilt, having already produced a son.
But the Ake household was not unique.
Among nobles, this was normal.
Families were paramount.
For power, they arranged marriages, forged alliances, and broke them again.
They used every trick to consolidate strength.
And children were tools—means to an end.
To Tris, parents were just that.
He believed that once he became useless, they would discard him, and so he, too, could discard them.
That belief made the years less painful.
But Emblin… she was different.
In every way.
Because of all this, she kept crossing his mind.
King Ackerus was surely searching for another political match—Ingrad was dead, after all.
His head would be spinning with calculations.
Whatever he negotiated with Queen Meril, he would not throw away the value Emblin represented.
Even hated, she was still a princess.
That alone held worth.
Nobles sold their daughters to gain power and sent their sons to die expanding their land.
It made Tris sick.
Without realizing it, Tris muttered aloud,
“Damn it.”
“Does it hurt that much? Maybe I pressed too hard,” Peta asked.
“No, I’m fine. Talking to myself.”
“Then I’ll continue.”
“Yeah.”
Peta let out a breath of relief and inspected the wound.
Bleeding had stopped.
He took out ointment.
“I’m putting the salve on. You know what happens next.”
“Yeah.”
They said the ointment burned like being branded with hot iron.
Tris had never used it himself, but everyone who had said the same thing.
Surely they exaggerated—pain weakens people.
That’s why he’d given ointment to Emblin’s side without warning her; she would find out soon enough.
Suddenly his brows knit.
Oh—what!
“Hold still. I need a bit more.”
It burned far worse than he’d expected.
His lips twisted to one side, and he huffed a laugh.
Damn—that must’ve made people curse plenty.
Emblin must have endured this each time.
She probably cursed him every time she applied it.
The Tower Princess. Emblin.
Gods, she really was stuck in his head today.
“All done.”
“Thanks.”
“So, what do we do now?”
Tris replied,
“I’ll think. Give me a moment.”
“Alright.”
While the ointment seeped deep into his skin, Tris fell into heavy thought.
First, Slorand’s situation.
King Ackerus wanted to strengthen royal authority; lords would not accept losing their power.
Yet the king had allied with Duke Kisling, and Duke Ake would not ignore it.
That meant armed conflict—blood soaking the ground by the thousands.
Calm now, but a storm would soon break.
To survive within it… to rescue Idela…
He closed his eyes, thinking deeper, breathing steady, piercing the darkness with reason.
Something seemed to appear inside that darkness.
The world he must guard, and the world he must live in.
Suddenly his mind cleared.
He knew exactly what he must do.
His eyes opened sharply.
He needed strength—fast.
The quickest way: form a mercenary band.
There were knights wandering the world, noble sons cast out like himself—many became mercenaries to survive.
He would gather them and build his own force.
Tris spoke.
“Peta.”
“Yeah?”
“Are you really coming with me?”
Peta looked wounded.
“Isn’t that obvious?”
Tris nodded.
Peta would follow even if told not to—that way he could report back to Duke Ake.
Peta was a good friend.
He simply owed the duke for saving him and felt bound to repay him.
Tris didn’t blame him.
But Peta, too, needed to change.
He already fulfilled his duty as a knight long ago.
His debt to Duke Ake had been paid years before.
Once he left the domain, Peta would realize that.
