Volume 1 - CH 1.1

CHAPTER 1: BLEEDING

“There is a ghost in Lake Emera that eats young children.”

There was a dead lake at the end of the field. It was a swamp covered by rotten weeds that were all tangled up together like a witch’s long locks. The weeds covered the swamp so thoroughly that the sun’s rays could not touch it even during the height of day. His nanny had said that he could go anywhere except for Lake Emera.

“That’s why you mustn’t go anywhere near Lake Emera. Not even when it’s bright out! The ghost with shining red eyes is always looking for children to eat.” When he didn’t reply, his nanny loudly continued, “Goodness, are you even listening, Young Master? You can even see it from the manor after nightfall. When I was your age, I used to see it all the time whenever the weather was stormy, Young Master!”

Boris, the youngest son of House Jinneman, was dubious, but he decided to believe his nanny’s tale for now. He had never seen the red eyes that his nanny spoke of no matter how many times he had slipped out of the manor and peered into the darkness on stormy nights. However, he couldn’t conclude that his nanny was lying either because other people—the servants in particular—had told him that the story was real.

It would have been nicer if the ghost of the lake was the only cloud of darkness that hung over the manor. He could have let himself dwell on the tale if it were.

Boris was twelve this year. His mother had passed away when he was young, but other than that, his childhood had been peaceful for as far as he could remember. He had never witnessed anything dreadful enough to give him nightmares. Yet, there were undeniably dark clouds hanging over the manor. They were heavy enough to stifle the delicate child. Boris was neither young nor foolish enough not to notice them.

“That’s not something you need to worry about, Little Boris.”

Boris looked up at the sky when he felt Yevgnen, his older brother, patting his head. Yevgnen was standing with his back to the sky. His cerulean eyes reminded Boris of the dress their mother was wearing in her portrait. Boris’ eyes, on the other hand, were ashen blue—the color of a rainy sky.

The brothers were standing in the middle of the Longorde Fields, which was a part of Jinneman territory. Overgrown needlegrass covered the fields from horizon to horizon. There were many such fields at the foot of the Katuna Mountains, which surrounded the Shell Peninsula, where the climate was cold.

Boris’ head was buried between the grasses as he lied down in the late summer field. Something was buzzing around him and tickling his nose—was it a bug? What bothered him more, however, was his older brother’s smile. His brother’s smile was exceptionally bright today.

Why am I feeling like this? I really don’t need to be. Seriously.

After all, Yevgnen was always smiling. He was always pulling his little brother, who was shy and didn’t smile often, by the hand and dragging him off to somewhere. No matter where they went, however, he always did his best to only show his little brother things that were fun, amusing, and bright. He was the type of older brother who would laugh louder with joy, unable to help himself, in the rare instances where his little brother burst into laughter.

Boris’ older brother was tall and handsome. He was also the best swordsmen out of all the young men from their neighboring territories, and he was also their father’s pride and joy.

He was the one and only person whom Boris trusted with all his heart—Yevgnen Jinneman.

“Alright, let’s spar. You promised!”

Boris nodded back and jumped up. His hair, long enough to reach his shoulders, fluttered behind him.

Yevgnen liked to tussle his little brother’s hair. He had already managed to turn Boris’ hair into a crow’s nest in the short time it had taken to hand him a wooden sword. Instead of grumbling like a petulant child, however, Boris simply smirked.

“Shoo, shoo! Don’t lay your eggs in my little brother’s hair!” Yevgnen said while shooing away imaginary birds.

Boris played along and looked behind him. His older brother took the opportunity to jab him lightly in the flank with his own wooden sword. By the time Boris turned back around, however, Yevgnen had already placed a fair amount of distance between the two of them. He was still smiling as he assume a lithe defensive stance.

Boris suddenly felt something strange.

He chased after his older brother’s wooden sword, trying to hit it, only to twist his ankle and fall heavily on his knee. He quickly tackled his brother when Yevgnen came to see if he was hurt, and then the two of them wrestled each other in the grass while giggling—yet that strange feeling never dissipated. Boris experienced this strange feeling every now and again. It was almost instinctual, not something he could evoke at will, but sometimes, that strange feeling would grow stronger and turn into a premonition of sorts.

Boris was a young child who didn’t know the first thing about swordsmanship, and Yevgnen was a young man who had been training with the sword for years. They were nowhere near close enough in skill level to be sparring together. It was just that Boris liked swinging around a wooden sword, so Yevgnen humored him under the pretext of helping him improve his reflexes as they wrestled around the fields together. Their father wanted Yevgnen to take his sword training more seriously instead of horsing around with his brother all the time. The kind-hearted young man, however, preferred to spend his time laughing with his little brother than improving his swordsmanship.

Their father, Yulkan Jinneman, did not pay much attention to Boris. After all, Boris was just a young child. He also thought that Yevgnen only loved his little brother because he was still immature and at an age where he tended to let his emotions get the better of him. Yulkan Jinneman did not believe in loving one’s brothers. As far as he was concerned, a man was considered lucky if his brother didn’t creep up behind him in the dead of night like a thief and bring a knife to his throat.

Yevgnen was Yulkan’s firstborn son. He was the one and only person whom Yulkan trusted. He not only trusted Yevgnen—he had high expectations for Yevgnen too. That was why he firmly believed that Yevgnen must be absolutely obedient to him. It was simply that Yevgnen was still too young to fully understand everything. He would surely come to understand what it was that his father expected of him once he was a little older.

Smack!

The sound of wood hitting wood echoed across the field. The two brothers’ wooden swords had connected for the first time in a while. Yevgnen feigned surprise and took a few steps back. He wanted his little brother to take the offensive and close in on him.

Boris ran after his brother quickly—he didn’t trip this time. His wooden sword, which he was holding just as his brother had taught him, was a little unsteady in his hands because it was a little heavy for him, but his stance was fine otherwise. He swung his sword to the left and tried to hit his brother’s shoulder. Yevgnen dodged deftly to the side just before Boris’ attack landed.

Boris refused to yield and closed in on his brother once more. In so doing, however, he had inadvertently crossed over a certein threshold that his brother had taught him about previously. His brother’s wooden sword was homing in toward his neck. There was no time for him to dodge.

“Whoa!”

Yevgnen was astonished. He couldn’t help but react on instinct, perhaps because his little brother was simply that talented. But all swords had pointed ends even if they were wooden training swords. A red welt appeared across Boris’ neck, which began beading up with blood.

“Oh shoot!”

Yevgnen tossed his wooden sword aside and wrapped his hands around his startled little brother’s cheeks. Then, he checked the wound while patting Boris on the back with one hand. Fortunately, it didn’t look too bad. The beads of blood grew bigger until they finally trailed down Boris’ neck. Yevgnen wiped the blood away with his sleeve before taking out his handkerchief and pressing it against the wound. He could feel his little brother’s heartbeat fluttering like a tiny bird.

“Were you surprised? I’m sorry, I really am. I made a mistake. I won’t do it again.”

Of course Boris was surprised. The wooden sword had come toward him so fast that he had momentarily forgotten that it was his own brother who was wielding it. Boris had panicked, thinking that someone was suddenly trying to kill him.

“…Yeah.”

Then, the two brothers suddenly heard someone calling for them. Someone from the manor was running over.

“Young Master Yevgnen! Young Master Boris!”

It was one of the servants who were in charge of looking after Boris. Yevgnen was glad to see him. It was about time to return home anyway. He took Boris by the hand. But then, he realized that something was off about the servant’s attitude. The servant was waving his arms as if he were telling the brothers not to go home.

“What happened?”

The servant finally made it to where the brothers were. He was out of breath and ashen-faced.

“You mustn’t return to the manor, Young Masters! Something terrible is afoot!”

Yevgnen waited patiently for the servant to continue instead of pressing for an answer. He wasn’t too worried. After all, he knew that the servants tended to make much ado about nothing. Boris, on the other hand, did see cause for concern. He had been feeling on edge all morning. He could sense that something was about to happen.

“Vlado Jinneman… He’s back!”

Yevgnen’s face froze stiff. He squeezed Boris’ hand lest his little brother got worried. He didn’t realize that his own hand had immediately gone cold.

“Ah, I see.”

Boris didn’t quite understand what the servant was trying to say. He also didn’t feel any chills running down his spine—the kind he usually felt whenever his vague premonitions suddenly became more concrete. And so, as if the matter didn’t really have anything to do with him, he slowly asked, “Uncle Vlado… is back?”

A rain-laden breeze suddenly gushed over the brothers’ heads. The wind’s feathers of water fell onto them.

The golden retriever that had been lying by the door suddenly jumped up and began growling. She was big, but she was normally so calm that she barely reacted even when the young Boris leaned against her and began fooling around. That calmness was nowhere to be found anymore. The dog was nervous, and her hackles were raised as she barked.

“Hah, what a rascal! You don’t even recognize me anymore. Stupid dog.”

The man who spoke was tall and slender, and he had noticeably long arms. His face was tanned, likely by the southern sun. Yet, it almost looked as if he had been stained by the darkness itself as he stood in front of the cloudy window. His yellowish eyes were set deeply in fine wrinkles. They looked like citrine gems that had been embedded in crocodile leather.

The man looked ready to kick the dog as he stomped and yelled, “Get lost! Shoo!”

The dog continued barking furiously, but she was well-trained and did not bite without her master’s orders.

Tap tap. A pair of footsteps echoed from the sitting room and promptly stopped in its tracks. Deep wrinkles formed around the crocodile-eyed man’s mouth as he smiled.

“It’s been too long, Lord Brother Yulkan.”

“Shh! Quiet down, Mallory.”

Yulkan Jinneman quieted his dog first. Then, he turned frigidly to his younger brother. He hadn’t seen his younger brother in years.

Hmm… Yulkan smiled. Both he and his brother had grown older since the last time they’d met. They both looked like they had lived as least twice as fiercely than most.

“So you were still alive after all, Vlado.”

“Oh? It is just me, or is that disappointment I hear?”

Their conversation held no meaning. After all, there was no reason for them to force themselves to keep to etiquette simply because they were brothers anymore. Their parents had passed away two years ago.

I could’ve killed the bastard the last time we met if only they’d passed away a little sooner, Yulkan thought to himself. He knew that his younger brother was likely thinking the same thing. It made him all the warier.

“It’s been so long since the last time we met. Won’t you at least offer me a seat?”

“Have a seat, then.”

The two brothers sat down on opposite ends of the table. Neither of them let their guards down.

Rumble… It was thundering outside, but it wasn’t raining just yet.

Yulkan suddenly wondered if Yevgnen was home yet. Then again, the servants had been frightened out of their wits as soon as his damned younger brother had stepped through the front door. Surely, at least one of them would have gone to find his sons. He had told them over and over again that Yevgnen was to take over as the head of the household should anything happen to himself. The servants and soldiers should have found Yevgnen by now. Surely, they were keeping Yevgnen safe and following the young man’s orders.

Vlado Jinneman, my one and only little brother. What are you scheming? Why have you come all this way just to die?

“Will you give me something to drink, Lord Brother? I was on horseback all day long. I’m so thirsty I could die.”

Slowly, Yulkan replied, “Very well, then. Do you want some black beer?”

“Haha, my tastes have changed after living in the countryside for so long. I’ll just have some ginger ale.”

Vlado had never liked non-alcoholic drinks like ginger ale. Yulkan acquiesced and signaled to a maid to bring the drinks, but he knew exactly what Vlado was up to. Both brothers had always known that Vlado would return someday. There was no guarantee that Yulkan hadn’t poisoned Vlado’s favorite drink in preparation for this day.

The left corner of Yulkan’s lips curled up into a smirk. He knew that his brother, whose hair was beginning to grey, was making the same exact expression.

Indeed, they undoubtedly had the same blood running through their veins. But they had also been at odds for over a decade now. There would be no compromise reached between them. It had been five years since Yulkan had driven his younger brother away from home. What kinds of cards had Valdo picked up that he had come all the way back here on his own two feet?

The brothers brought their respective glasses of ginger ale to their lips. Even the way they moved was eerily similar.

“Must I ask you why you’re here?”

“I might as well spare you the effort and just tell you,” Vlado replied while curling the right corner of his lips into a smirk like he was Yulkan’s reflection. He continued, “You’ve heard of Elector Khan, yes? I know that you’re not deaf to the news from Ron, Lord Brother. I’ve decided to support him, and—”

Hmph, Yulkan snorted.

“Get lost if you’re only here to spout nonsense. Find somewhere else to stay.”

Vlado suddenly stopped smiling. His yellowish eyes were glistening.

“This place doesn’t belong only to you. Y’know that, right? Or have ya forgotten that our parents passed down Longorde to both of us equally?”

Vlado slipped back into his former speech mannerisms in his rage. Yulkan glowered back at him icily.

“Have you forgotten exactly how you ended up losing your rights to the territory? Yenishka must be rolling in her grave to see you back here today.”

Vlado chewed his lips as he replied, “What makes ya think that I’m the one who killed the girl?”

Yulkan suddenly felt something surging up his throat and slammed his glass down against the table. Grey drops of liquid splattered across the table’s surface.

“She was always terrified of Lake Emera ever since she was a young child. Just listening to the tales about the lake was enough to make her quiver in fear. Why would she go to the lake alone if it weren’t for the prank you played on her?!”

“Hmph. Yeni was still alive when she came back from the lake! It was you who had her killed without botherin’ to try an’ treat her after she went mad, wasn’t it?”

“How dare you try to justify your actions?!”

Yulkan splashed the rest of his ale at Vlado’s face.

Valdo wiped the ale away with his sleeve as the droplets traveled down his wrinkles. His smile was warped as he quietly said, “Hmph… Alrighty, then. I wasn’t plannin’ to ask for yer opinion to begin with. Has there ever been anyone of Jinneman blood who’s ever switched political parties before findin’ a blade at their throat? Haha, our parents couldn’t stop either of their sons from joinin’ different political parties, and even Yeni ended up joinin’ the Flame Anvil Party because of the man who would’ve been her husband.”

Vlado cackled quietly before he continued, “Ya think Aunt Janine’s any different? Ain’t she spearheading the March Senate and stirrin’ things up like crazy? Hahaha—and do ya really think yer own sons are gonna be any different from the rest of us? Yer brats might abandon ‘Kacha,’ whom ya worship like some kinda god, and decide to join a completely different party. Like the Advance Party, for example! It wouldn’t surprise me!”

Yulkan’s eyes were blazing with fury. They glistened in the darkness. Darkness had fallen early in the sitting room due to the weather, yet not a single candle had been lighted.

But Vlado wasn’t done. “Pft—that’s five political parties in just one household. Five! Or is it four now since our parents are dead?”

Yulkan decided that he was done responding. Quietly, he said, “Get out.”

“Alright, I’ll leave.” Vlado jumped up to his feet. He was still smirking as he jabbed a long finger in his older brother’s direction. “Yer gonna regret this, y’know that? This is the last olive branch I’m ever gonna extend to ya. Don’t ever forget that. It’s the very last one. I was plannin’ to wipe our past clean away and forgive ya for everything ya did if ya just handed over the Winterbottom Kit. What do ya say? Wanna think it over one last time?”

In response, Yulkan spat out, “It’ll never fall into your hands for as long as I still have my head.”

“Hmph, thanks for pointin’ it out. I’ll keep it in mind.” Vlado’s wrinkles deepened once more as he grinned. He had expected Yulkan’s answer. He narrowed his eyes and took a moment to enjoy the dark shadow that had fallen over Yulkan’s visage. Then, he continued, “Even a blind man can see that Lord Elector Khan will win the presidency. Do ya really think that now’s a good time to stay rooted in this peninsula instead of joinin’ hadns with him? Besides, ‘Kacha’ is the person that Elector Khan hates the most. Do ya really think yer gonna manage to get yerself outa this one, Brother? Yer gonna be dead meat as soon as the election’s over. Ya should’ve just played nice and pretended that yer younger bro managed to persuade ya while I was bein’ generous. But that wouldn’t be the Jinneman way now, would it?”

“I told you to leave!”

Yulkan knew exactly what Vlado was saying. After all, it was old news.

Elector Khan, whom his younger brother served, had already been promised support from over half of the fifteen electorates. There were only three electors who opposed him, including Elector Katsya, whom Vlado was calling ‘Kacha’ in a demeaning manner. The others did not support Elector Khan openly, but neither did they seem willing to go against the flow.

The election was already lost. Yulkan knew this too. But everyone in House Jinneman—no, everyone in the Republic of Travachess who had any amount of renowned blood running in their veins—held as tightly to their political beliefs as they did to life itself. In fact, it was widely established that people were often willing to cling to their political beliefs even if it meant their deaths. House Jinneman was particularly infamous for this. The electorate knew this too, and various electors had done their best to win them over. Perhaps that was why there was so much bad blood between the two brothers.

Just when had it happened? Since when had the entire nation so blindly thrown herself into her political beliefs and political parties when not everyone could afford even a single piece of bread? Had it started when Travachess had become a republic?

No, Travachess wasn’t even a true republic. It was nothing more than a monarchy of another name but with hundreds of different political parties that pitted parents against children, brothers against brothers, and friends against friends.

Even still, Yulkan could not bend his will. The people of Travachess had always considered turning one’s back on the master one served to be an everlasting stain on one’s honor. There had only been eight political parties when the republic had been founded. Yet, this was the very reason why the original eight political parties had splintered into several hundred. They had been unable to stop themselves from splintering apart after all the bitter infighting and assassinations. Yulkan knew this. But even still, he had not been able to join the same political party as his parents, take his own younger brother’s hand, or welcome his little sister’s fiancé with open arms.

It wasn’t uncommon in Travachess for entire houses to collapse because its members had been fractured into different political parties. Electors and electorate candidates always did their best to pull anyone from a house with even a little bit of renown to their name over to their side. After all, they would be able to secure a vote if their target then proceeded to exterminate the rest of their bloodline and take over their house.

No one cared even if it meant driving brothers against sisters, turning husbands and wives into enemies, or pitting mothers against sons in the process. After all, being born as a citizen of Travachess meant that nothing else mattered so long as one’s own party gained political power!

Vlado, who intended to leave without saying goodbye, was smirking until the very end.

“House Jinneman never would’ve been passed down to a second son if only ya decided to hear me out. What a shame. Hold tight to everything and do yer best to survive until I come back to take it all from ya.”

The doors slammed shut.

Yulkan was alone in the sitting room now. He was as still as a stone statue. But he was also a man who had survived the maelstrom of war. He had witnessed the political parties of Travachess massacring each other time and time again. His younger brother’s claim of having visited in order to ‘reconcile’ had been utter bullshit. Vlado’s true purpose had always been to declare war.

And, Vlado had come to ask for the Winterbottom Kit? That was preposterous! Vlado knew best that Yulkan would never simply hand it over.

Naturally, Valdo probably hadn’t come alone either. There was probably an army waiting outside to assault the manor, and Vlado had probably taken some sort of defensive measures to protect himself long before he had walked inside. Vlado had likely prepared many other things too, though he probably also knew that it had all been for naught. Vlado had grown up in this manor too, but now it was nothing more than his enemy’s base. And he wasn’t one to simply walk into his enemy’s base unprepared. After all, he, too, was old enough to have fought his fair share of political battles and tasted his fair share of blood.

“Tulk.”

“Yes, Master?” responded a voice from behind the sitting room curtains.

“It’s war.”

“Yes. I shall prepare accordingly.”

The presence of the man who had been standing behind the curtains vanished. There was a secret passage behind them that led outside. Yulkan took a moment to look down at the scattered droplets of ale and the two glasses sitting side by side on the table before getting up. Then, he pushed open the tall windows and looked down. He saw Vlado climbing up his horse, as well as two other sons of bitches bringing their own horses over. Once the three of them were on their horses, they kicked the spurs and began racing toward the fields that the brothers had spent their childhood in together.