Chapter 8: The place I want to leave (4)

Chapter 8: The place I want to leave (4)

Count Roxen brought mostly essential items like food supplies, daily necessities, and clothing, things one absolutely needs to live.

However, it wasn’t just the essentials. There were also items like cards and books to pass the idle time, and even snacks that, while not quite as good as those at the castle, would surely delight Sirien.

Thanks to this, the siblings forgot they were to stay here for three months, engrossed in treasure hunting within the boxes.

I now had a sword of my own.

It was a familiar shape: a dull gray blade that didn’t reflect light, with a simple, unadorned guard and pommel.

It seemed to embody the idea that a sword’s sole purpose was to be sharp and strong.

While it felt good in hand, it was still a bit too large and heavy for the body of a twelve-year-old boy.

This sword was a relic of my father, Count Berthus.

A knight’s sword might seem meaningful at first glance, but I’m not so sure.

There was no rule that family members had to use the same sword.

My swordsmanship was taught by my father, yet our swords were distinctly different.

Sitting and looking at the sword, I felt a peculiar gaze.

It was Sirien, who had paused, fork midway to her mouth, as she turned to look at me with a happy expression.

“Do you... want some?”

“No, call me when you’re eating the meat you mentioned earlier.”

“Okay!”

I didn’t dislike sweets, but I feared that eating them might earn me a deep-seated grudge from Sirien.

The mere fact she offered it so readily was astonishing enough; Sirien preferred sharing things like cookies, but she had a particular greed for cakes.

It had been days since she had tasted anything sweet, so to her eyes, that sweet roll must have seemed as precious as a cake.

‘Am I causing her concern?’

My father’s death seemed to cast a shadow over their spirits.

While I appreciated their consideration, they needn’t have tiptoed around me.

I was genuinely fine.

Staying there any longer felt like it would only dampen the mood further, so I went upstairs.

Lying on the bed, it took a few minutes before I could start hearing the siblings’ voices again.

Their chatter was like white noise, pleasant to the ear, almost like the chirping of birds.

‘That man wasn’t a bad person.’

I didn’t have many memories to speak of.

Most of my time with my father revolved around the sword—learning theories, training, sparring.

After sparring, we’d gulp down water, cool off with cold water, and then devour meat at the dining hall.

He was a good teacher, but whether he was a good parent, I couldn’t say.

He was a man of few words, and since I had been an orphan in the world before, I had no one to compare him to.

Lost in these thoughts, I heard footsteps.

Tap, tap, tap—light, childlike steps, but not frivolous, climbing the wooden stairs.

It was Sirien, who had come to lie beside me, with bread crumbs on her cheek, bringing us face to face at a surprisingly close distance.

“Razen, want some? I brought a few from downstairs.”

“What is it?”

“Dried apples. Try it, it’s good.”

Sirien didn’t seem to care much for my opinion.

Her hand moved stubbornly towards my mouth, and I had no choice but to accept what was given.

Naturally, it tasted of apple.

“Not crying, huh?”

“Did you come here to tease me?”

Oh no, that came out sharper than I intended.

There was no reason for it. Why did I react so sensitively for no reason?

It was mortifying beyond measure, but somehow, my heart felt at ease.

At least for today, it seemed unlikely I’d fall into distress again.

***

It seems I fell asleep unknowingly.

When I woke up, I was alone under the covers.

Judging by the slowly setting sun outside, it seemed I had been asleep for at least a couple of hours.

Sirien must have left earlier, as I could hear voices chattering downstairs.

I could easily imagine her covering me with a blanket and quietly descending.

I was scared to leave the comfort of my blanket.

The memory of crying in front of Sirien brought a belated wave of embarrassment.

For me, once a proud young man of Berthus, it was an unbearable shame.

If Sirien used this incident to tease me, I might have drawn my sword to end my own life on the spot.

After all, a knight’s honor was to be upheld...

I wanted to stay hidden under the blanket forever.

But that wasn’t possible.

My steps felt heavy.

“Slept well?”

“Oh, perfect timing. Come down and join us.”

Fortunately, Sirien didn’t tease me.

Seeing her grin as if nothing had happened eased my mind.

By keeping her mouth shut, our kind and benevolent lady had become the savior of my life.

“Were you playing Catch the Thief?”

“Yes. The loser gets a punishment.”

“Oh? What’s the punishment?”

“Singing.”

“Great. I’ll make sure everyone loses their voice.”

As I approached, a spot was quickly made for me.

We sat in a circle: Terion, Hena, me, and then Sirien.

I took the opportunity to shuffle the cards.

Once everyone had their hands, I surveyed their expressions.

Terion couldn’t hide his playful smile.

His lips twitched up in a grin, then he consciously tried to conceal it.

Clearly, he had the joker.

Hena fumbled with her cards in confusion.

It seemed she was not familiar with card games, which made her discomfort obvious.

She must have been dealt a particularly bad hand.

Lastly, Sirien... was a formidable opponent.

In the novel, Sirien was portrayed as harsh and cold, with exceptional political acumen.

An expressionless face, as if frost had settled upon it, giving no hint of her thoughts— a woman like an abyss.

I hadn’t expected her to embody that image, but given her background in psychological warfare and politics, I thought she might at least maintain a solid poker face.

And I wasn’t wrong in that assumption.

It was just different from what I had imagined.

She was smiling the entire time, making it impossible to guess her thoughts.

Was it because she had a good hand? No, that didn’t seem to be the case.

Sirien kept smiling, even when she was losing...