46 – 46. Revered and Beautiful Goddess Silveryn

“Well, I’ll be going now.”

It was clearly a moment where her heart had swelled just now.

But only a few minutes later, it’s all awkward and embarrassing.

As Rianna cautiously takes a step backward, Isaac settles back into the bed.

“G-go carefully.”

It’s only back to her room anyway, what’s there to be careful about?

Isaac himself didn’t know, he’s just blurting out whatever.

Rianna’s hand on the doorknob.

About to head out, she hesitates a moment, then cautiously turns her head.

Rosy cheeks now blooming.

Her small voice, clear as testing stones on a bridge.

“Um, Isaac…”

“Yeah?”

Had she more to say?

But Rianna just stared at Isaac, the rest not coming to pass.

“Why?”

“……”

“Rianna?”

Her name spoken, Rianna finally flinches, a subtle tremor. She lowers her head, seemingly regretful, and murmurs,

“You’re back.”

“……”

“I, I’ll go.”

Rianna flees, like a fugitive.

Watching the space she vacated, Isaac sighs, the tension leaving his body.

‘Ria, of all things.’

That was a pet name from their old love affair.

A blush of embarrassment, tinged with absurdity, blossoms as he realizes he’d let that old endearment slip out.

‘Pull yourself together, Isaac. Don’t get any weird ideas.’

Rianna’s appearance was undeniably alluring.

What man, after all, wouldn’t be moved by one of the kingdom’s famed beauties, eyes brimming with tears?

But he’d already stumbled down that path once.

‘Absolutely not.’

Isaac takes a deep breath, clearly sorting through his emotions.

‘As a fellow swordsman. Just happy, that’s all. She was the swordsman I looked up to, after all.’

“Hah.”

He lets out a grumble, trying to get a grip on himself.

*Clunk.*

The door swings open again, and Vivian, the head of the infirmary, steps inside.

“I heard you were awake.”

“Rianna told you?”

“Pardon? No, Miss Silverna was the one who informed me, actually.”

Silverna?

He’s taken aback for a moment, then extends his right arm towards Vivian, making it easier for her to examine.

“You’re still in pain, aren’t you?”

“Yes, it hurts even now.”

“To put it simply, you broke a rock with an egg.”

“……”

“Your right arm was the egg. It shattered from the overwhelming impact. I’ll cast a healing spell once my mana is restored, but you may be left with some lingering aftereffects.”

A sudden dread seized me.

The memory of forfeiting everything due to injury, wasn’t it still vivid?

Vivian, seeing the shadow cast across Isaac’s face, added an explanation.

“It can’t be helped. To be precise, it’s because we dealt with something that wasn’t permitted.”

“Is it about talent again?”

Vivian, who could be called a believer in talent.

He was overflowing with magician superiority and the elitism of talent, which seemed to be why he was displeased that Isaac, with his exceptionally low mana, had demonstrated such a strike.

“Yes, that’s right. It’s about talent.”

“Didn’t you see it with your own eyes?”

“And so…”

Vivian, pressing his hand to his forehead, replied with a sigh and a vaguely uncomfortable tone.

“And so, it’s perplexing. What you showed there, it seemed closer to effort than talent.”

“…”

“Magicians usually don’t give up their stubbornness. It’s because we think more, worry more, and then come to our conclusions!”

Turning, he hastily organized the medical supplies. An awkward display, as if he was forcibly trying to hide his embarrassment.

“So, just know this! How amazing it is that you broke a magician’s stubbornness! I, I’m not someone who’s easily swayed or changes my mind easily!”

Vivian cut off the bandage wrapped around Isaac’s right arm with the splint, and then re-bandaged it.

“Keep coming for treatment. That way, we’ll see how far that thing you call effort can go. How wrong I was… won’t we?”

Perhaps his thoughts had been somewhat straightened out as he finished bandaging.

Vivian, having stepped back, gazed at Isaac with a seriousness in his eyes.

“The way you looked going up the ramparts-.”

A powerless gait challenging the impossible.

“That was, in many ways, deeply moving to me.”

As Vivian turned back to his work, Isaac called out.

“Hey-.”

“Yes?”

“Even if the relationship has soured, it’s not strange to call your wife by a pet name, right?”

“…”

Vivian, looking at Isaac in a clumsy manner, sniffled and nodded.

“You didn’t listen to a single thing I said, did you.”

Sorry, but I couldn’t focus on that.

* * *

The great swarm was dealt with.

The royal court sent supplies to celebrate and console.

The Malidian Wall was in full festival mode for several days, in the form of a feast.

Everyone except the minimal personnel was able to rest until the huge bonfire in the center of the parade ground burned out.

That was starting from firewood and putting in long-burning fossils, so it was still burning strong for three days straight.

So much so that Uldiran put guards just in case someone was adding firewood every dawn, hoping to rest more.

Anyways.

The Malidian Wall, won through much hardship, was spending each day in a relaxed atmosphere.

But of course, since the great swarm was gone, that also meant farewells were coming.

Reconnaissance Team Five was gathered in one place.

As various dispatched nobles were leaving, it was also time for Meladic Drakemore to go.

The Drakemore family had urgently summoned him, so he had to leave without even sharing many farewell drinks.

“Feels bittersweet to actually be leaving.”

The North was an opportunity for the promising Drakemore heir to gain real battle experience.

He not only gained a lot more battlefield experience than his age should have, but he also had a lot of epiphanies.

“You did well, Meladic.”

“You worked hard too, Captain. It feels like just yesterday when I jumped you the first day.”

“Good thing you started listening after I beat you up.”

Meladic grinned and shook hands with Silverna.

After shaking everyone’s hand, he stood in front of Isaac and, unlike the others, held both of Isaac’s hands tightly.

“I learned so much thanks to you. Not just the Drakemore swordsmanship, but what Meladic’s sword is. I feel like I opened my eyes because of you.”

Meladic’s sincere gratitude for the advice and teaching he had received.

Isaac answered with a smile.

“Don’t mistake learning for imitation. When you wield a sword, only you are there.”

“Hm?”

“Someone I know said that. It resonated with me, so I remember it.”

“……”

“Remember that you are a Drakemore. Don’t try to fit yourself into that, instead, where you go is the path of Drakemore.”

*Sniff.*

“Ah, the wind.”

He grumbled, pretending the wind had just grazed his eyes, to hide the surge of emotion.

Just like that.

Melladict Drakemore was gone.

There had been many dispatched nobles who left early, claiming the North was tedious, but this was the first time someone had left from Scouting Team 5.

Even though they’d only been together a little over a month, the void it left in his heart was unexpectedly profound.

“That’s, the same thing you said to me last time, right?”

On the way back from seeing Melladict off.

Silverna, who’d quietly approached, asked.

“You told me not to forget that I am a Caldias.”

Advice to not conform his self to Caldias’s spear techniques, but to become Caldias himself and move forward.

That still remained deep in Silverna’s heart, acting as a source of pride and an accelerant that made him strive even harder in his studies.

“Who said that?”

“It was written in a book.”

“A book? What book?”

“Please, I beg you, recommend something. Let the young lady read something,” Anna chimed in from the side, and Silverna pouted, grumbling in response.

Isaac answered with a hollow laugh.

“You can’t read it. It’s a book that doesn’t exist now.”

To go a little deeper.

It was an autobiography.

And also, a last will and testament.

“Hmm?”

Silverna didn’t ask any further.

Even if she were to receive the book, she didn’t feel like she’d read it.

“More importantly. Father is calling for you.”

“The Marcher?”

“He kept asking about your condition.”

Isaac, whose right arm was still in a splint and bandage.

They treat me whenever it flares, but haven’t gotten to the healing magic yet.

It’s a mana-draining spell, they say, needs days to recover, so I’m just getting simple care now.

“Did I cause you worry?”

“Nah, more like they said they want to beat you black and blue.”

“…Because of this?”

Isaac gestures to the silver blade at his hip, shimmering like an ice crystal.

Silberna, arms crossed, nods with a pout.

“Right?”

“Ahem, Silberna. About this.”

“This? You call it ‘this’ now? Surely, there’s a name *I* gave it?”

“……”

“You don’t like it? If you don’t, hand it over. Right now, I’ll have Antonio melt it down!”

“Alright! Alright, I got it!”

Isaac clears his throat with a cough.

Anna, who’s been watching from the side, snickers. Sharen and Jonathan glance over, too.

Rianna has already fled, as if she was escaping.

“Is it because of… ‘My Revered and Beautiful Goddess Silberin’?”

“Yes, exactly. ‘My Revered and Beautiful Goddess Silberin’ is like a frozen silver mine leaking its frost all over the place.”

“So, Silberna, I’m grateful, really, but maybe we could change the name a bit?”

“Nah.”

Silberna glares at Isaac, a dark look on her face, then strides past him.

“No, Silberna, just a minute-!”

Isaac hurries after Silberna, who looks like she’s sulking.

Anna inwardly marveled.

‘The young miss has a real hold on him.’

* * *

The mellow sunset cast its glow over the Helmunt manor.

On Arundel’s desk, lay letters brimming with flowery language, announcing the victory in the North.

With the Great Hive dealt with, the Sword Ceremony would proceed without a hitch.

Though it was delayed slightly, considering the special circumstances of the Great Hive, he considered it fortunate.

“You called, Father?”

Loengreen Helmun, the eldest son, entered.

A confident smile, a step that spoke of good cheer.

It seemed he too had heard the news of the northern hordes’ quelling.

“Isn’t it a relief? I was worried the Sword Ascendancy might be delayed, but this way, everything will proceed without a hitch–.”

“You–.”

Arandel cut him off, dismissing the unnecessary words.

As though his eldest son’s voice hadn’t even registered, he clipped his words short.

“What do you wield?”

Shoulders squared, back straight, he answers with his bright smile brimming with self-assurance.

“Helmun’s blade.”

“……”

Had he answered wrongly, perhaps?

Swallowing, Loengreen adds, his throat tight beneath Arandel’s heavy gaze.

“O-of course. I am much lacking compared to Father’s sword-!”

“Hah.”

A short sigh.

Arandel closed his eyes briefly, then uttered a clipped phrase.

“Do not become an imitation.”

“……Huh?”

That was all.

Arandel, having no further words, turned his gaze back to the missive on his desk.

Loengreen, standing there dumbfounded, bowed and then left.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

*Crack!*

His fist clenched until his knuckles whitened, Loengreen muttered, his face twisted.

“Helmun is your Father, is he not?”

With his frustration buried deep, Loengreen set back out for training.

Tomorrow his mother returned.

When she did, he planned to ask her to try and discern his father’s inscrutable heart.

‘Because Mother wishes for me to become the head of the house.’