Chapter 68 : Chapter 68
Chapter 68: Return
Although the negotiations with Raphaelo were over, they only prepared to leave the next day.
It was due to the heart of a father who worried about a cold with every sneeze. Orde did not believe Simurtr's words that he had fully recovered.
“An adopted son… you have raised him quite well.”
It was a sarcastic remark, but it also contained some sincerity.
Simurtr had killed the Great Magician and destroyed the Black Tower. The fact that he had become a Sword Master at the mere age of 16 was already a topic that would make the world jump.
Raphaelo had never seen a more brilliant debut.
‘A monster has appeared in Mectera.’
Even if the matter of the Black Tower was hidden, the existence of Simurtr would soon spread throughout the Empire.
“...I did not raise him.”
“That is excessive modesty. He is a genius who will soon be known throughout the Empire.”
“It's true.”
Orde calmly shook Raphaelo's hand. Indeed. Raphaelo was inwardly impressed.
‘This generation of Mectera is different.’
Mectera was called the loafers of the sword.
Because if it wasn't the sword, they had no interest in anything else, including politics. But the Orde before him? He was different from the indifferent Medeoban or the foolish Gerehk.
He noticed the sarcasm, but he didn't show it.
Medeoban would have genuinely not known, and Gerehk would have drawn his sword, asking if he was being insulted.
‘Mectera is changing.’
It must be the flow of the times, and a new generation. It was a pace that was hard for an old man to keep up with.
Raphaelo looked at Simurtr, who was yawning with his mouth wide open. Like it or not, that arrogant brat would soon become a symbol of Mectera.
“Young Master Simurtr, I hope you have not forgotten your promise.”
The last will.
He hadn't heard it. He had only gotten a promise that he would surely answer if Lushuala came to him.
It was an answer that Raphaelo had no choice but to accept. The last will belonged only to the one it was permitted to. Unlike someone, Raphaelo had a duty to respect the deceased.
“Of course, Sir Drecie. I hope Grand Duke Lushuala finishes her arduous work soon.”
Forcibly stopping another yawn, Simurtr gave a smiling glance.
His fierce eyes curved up nicely. Raphaelo barely suppressed the hollow laugh that was about to escape.
“What, will Sir Drecie be heading north again?”
“I plan to.”
“I hope the day I can tell you comes soon.”
To the end. That bastard grates on his nerves to the very end. Raphaelo watched Simurtr's departing back, suppressing his killing intent.
‘I will not forget.’
If he waited, the time would come.
A chance to get one over on that young and arrogant brat.
Having made up his mind, Raphaelo ran north.
The border of the forbidden Aitentel.
He had to ensure the safety of Grand Duke Lushuala, who would be beyond it....
***
Clatter. Clatter.
While Orde and all the other swordsmen were on horseback.
And the Black Snakes of Degrate were concealed, following in the rear, Beden was inside a cozy carriage.
‘My son, you should rest more.’
Simurtr's case was different. Orde was concerned about Beden's mental scars.
The loss of a parent, especially a mother, hits young children even harder.
“I'm fine.”
Beden slightly lifted the cloth covering the window. He could see Simurtr riding a horse beyond it.
Did he learn it when he went to Degrate? To assume so, he looked quite natural. When on earth. Or was that also a talent?
“Annoying brat.”
He is strong. Beden thought, looking at Simurtr.
Sword Master? That ridiculous achievement was one thing, but he was talking about his inner self.
“He's definitely the same age as me.”
As much as that achievement, no, the brat's inner self was even stronger and more excellent than that. The judgment he showed at the Black Tower still evoked admiration.
Evacuate the rest and face the remaining forces of the Black Tower, the Great Magician, alone?
Whatever the result, Beden admired the fact that he could make such a choice. How big were his guts? How strong was his heart?
“That bastard. Didn't he lie about his age?”
All Sword Masters look young.
Maybe he's not 16, but 32. But then, there's no way his father wouldn't know, right?
“Who.”
…As he was having such thoughts, a voice was suddenly heard. Beden, startled, looked around before his eyes turned back to the window.
“Who lied about their age.”
Outside, Simurtr was mouthing the words.
Despite the carriage being soundproofed, the voice was clear. Being a Sword Master must make such tricks possible.
“What are you peeking at, so furtively? You didn't show your face at all when we were at Serepes castle.”
“...What.”
“Why, are you going to curse my mother again?”
Ah, having said that, Simurtr opened his mouth in surprise. His eyes rolled to the side.
I'm really fine. At the awkward gesture, Beden furrowed his eyebrows. He wouldn't mind it from his father, but he didn't want this kind of clumsy consideration from someone his own age.
Especially from Simurtr. Even more so.
“Hey, a word.”
“Yes? Ah, yes. But what about the reins?”
“I don't use those.”
Simurtr outside abruptly passed his horse to Deban and jumped up. Clatter. Looking to the right, Simurtr was just opening the carriage door and coming in.
“Why, what.”
Suddenly, a memory from the past occupies his mind.
Is he going to hit me again? I didn't do anything wrong this time.
“……”
When there was no reaction, Beden timidly opened his eyes. He peeked at Simurtr through the gaps between the fingers covering his face.
“What is it.”
Far from hitting him, Simurtr was leaning his face forward. To be precise, he was offering his left cheek at the perfect angle to be hit.
“What do you mean, aren't you going to hit me?”
“Why would I hit you.”
“Didn't you look at me because you wanted to hit me?”
“...Why would I.”
Far from hitting him, the situation was such that it wouldn't be enough even if he bowed down in gratitude.
“You know now that I lied.”
Mother again.
Beden bit his lip hard. A lie. It was about when he was out of his mind at the Kua facility. My mother is alive, Simurtr had said so.
“It was a lie you told for me. Because I couldn't get a grip.”
“Still, you should hit me. It's about your mother.”
“You hated my mother.”
“That's a separate issue.”
“...I'm not going to hit you.”
“Your words and actions are different.”
Beden was clenching his fists tightly. He had put so much force into it that his skin had turned white.
“I'm really fine, I tell you.”
Really, he was really fine.
It was truly sad that his mother had died, but it was something he could endure. The Simurtr right in front of him had lost his mother as soon as he was born, hadn't he?
If he could do it, then I can do it too. Kelken had said so. But Kelken had also died.
“...I'm fine.”
Moisture seeps through his tightly bitten lips.
Was it snot, or tears? Beden doesn't know. He doesn't want to touch it to check, nor does he want to admit it.
In fact, he doesn't want to believe that his mother is dead, or that Kelken died trying to protect him.
“Right.”
The voice he heard was calm.
“Should I leave? Crying without a sound probably won't be very refreshing.”
Simurtr doesn't comfort him. He can see it through his blurred vision. The brat is just calmly looking at him.
“I'm not crying.”
“You look like it.”
“You think I'm pathetic, don't you?”
“I don't.”
“Liar.”
“You're allowed to.”
“What am I.”
“You're young. At that age, you're supposed to grow up crying your eyes out.”
“You're that age too.”
“I'm 32.”
“Liar.”
“If you're not going to believe me, then don't.”
It was snot. Beden rubbed his face hard with his palm. The distorted image of Simurtr became somewhat clearer.
“You, don't you cry.”
“Sometimes I do.”
“Out loud?”
“No, I wasn't allowed to do that.”
He had shed tears quite a few times.
He had never specifically counted, but it must have been so.
However, he was in a position where he had to pretend it was blood or rain.
It was a situation where he couldn't easily show his emotions even if he was surrounded by allies. He would rather cry in front of a Doom Species.
“Why not? You said you're supposed to grow up crying your eyes out.”
“I'm all grown up.”
“We're the same age.”
“There's a reason for that.”
“...You hate my mother, don't you?”
“There are few victims who like their perpetrators.”
“You hate me too, don't you?”
“I tend to dislike children.”
“Liar.”
“It's true.”
“You treat everyone well.”
Simurtr treats the siblings very well.
He listens to their complaints, and helps with their training. He remembered secretly watching them once. Was he envious? He might have been.
“That's a separate issue from hating them. Children have to receive.”
“What?”
“Just, everything.”
So he treats them well.
What he does for the siblings, and what he does for him, is not different. Warp. Seeing that, Simurtr had guessed there was a connection and had volunteered to be kidnapped. He had actually found him, and saved him.
“...Simurtr.”
Then I.
Did I express my gratitude?
“Just call me Simyun. It seems like everyone else does.”
“...Simyun, you are a Sword Master.”
“I know.”
“The main family doesn't care about bloodline.”
“That. Didn't I tell you that?”
“I'll work hard.”
He had received a favor he could not repay with words.
How should he repay it? Immediately, Beden found the way.
“You will become the Sword Master. I will become the 1st Head of the Sword.”
He would help Simurtr, who would become the master of Mectera. 1st Head of the Sword.
He would become the vanguard of Mectera, and become Simurtr's right-hand man.
It was an expression of gratitude, and the only way to repay the favor.
“What are you talking about? I'm not becoming the Sword Master.”
“Huh?”
…Beden saw it.
Simurtr was disgusted.
“I'm not going to be the Sword Master, so you guys figure it out.”
“Why?”
Beden could not understand.
The Sword Master, the master of the holy land of the sword, Mectera. A position that anyone who holds a sword can't help but dream of.
“Why do something so troublesome? It's better to boss you guys around after you become the Sword Master.”
“Is that so?”
It wasn't entirely wrong.
Beden thought that Simurtr's words were quite plausible.
“Right, so you guys figure it out. Whether Jahar does it, or Ael does it, or you beat them all.”
“Then you can boss me around after I become the Sword Master.”
Nothing much changes.
He just has to work hard and become the Sword Master instead of the 1st Head of the Sword.
“What?”
“I'll live as you command.”
Perhaps that would be even cooler.
Simurtr's right-hand man would not be the 1st Head of the Sword, but the Sword Master.
Above Mectera. Simurtr was looking beyond that.
“Say that after you've earned the right to be the successor. What's a brat who hasn't even had his Selection Ceremony talking about?”
“My Selection Ceremony is next year.”
“I had mine this year.”
“……”
“Wipe your face. We're here.”
The front window of the carriage.
The castle of Mectera was visible.
***
“I'm going.”
As soon as they entered, Beden ran towards the cabin on the Sacred Mountain.
He said he would pay his respects at Kelken's grave and train. It wasn't a bad phenomenon.
Rather, immersing oneself in something else is good for forgetting and moving on.
The trivial aftermath to be dealt with at the main castle was as good as solved. Because the one who came to pick them up in person was the master of Mectera.
“Simyun, you go and rest too. Even if your body has recovered, your mind must be tired.”
The tone was gentle, but Orde's way of speaking started to resemble Medeoban's again.
The environment of Mectera was putting psychological pressure on Orde.
‘He must feel like the old man is watching him from everywhere.’
Perhaps because he had decided to treat him well, he looked somewhat pitiful. Looking at his skills alone, he was not someone who should be treated like this.
Raphaelo was a strong person comparable to Aran. Orde had drawn his sword on such a Raphaelo without hesitation.
It was to protect the son by his side, but it was an act that could not be done without confidence in one's own skills.
“I don't have time in the morning and afternoon. I think Beden will be the same now.”
Orde considers him a son.
He had never thought of him as a father, but shouldn't he at least do as much as he had received?
“However, I have time in the evening. It would be difficult every day, but I think it would be nice to have dinner together often.”
“Ye-yes, let's do that!”
Orde's face, which had been dark all along, brightened up.
After putting Orde, who said he would see him off to the west annex, into the central castle, Simurtr caught Deban, who was about to return to the 6th Sword Order.
“You, you're going to report to Aran, right?”
“That's right. I have to.”
The choice of Deban as a companion was not made by Simurtr.
Simurtr had expected that Deban would follow, but he hadn't specifically requested it from Aran.
“What are you going to say?”
“Hmm, it would be troublesome if I told the truth, right?”
“No, you can tell him everything, even up to the Black Tower. Aran also knows I had business in Bahab.”
There were many things that bothered him.
Going to Bahab? Aran knows too. Volunteering to go to the Black Tower? He would get an earful, but he didn't care.
“Then what should I hide?”
“The last will, don't tell Aran about that.”
“Didn't the 6th Head of the Sword tell you that?”
“That's why. Aran will hate that it's known outside.”
Did he use the name too thoughtlessly?
He also had such regrets. But it was already in the past, and Simurtr had to deal with the aftermath.
“But he said it to save his life, so wouldn't he let it slide?”
“No. Don't.”
“I understand.”
“If you tell him, you'll die too.”
“I will keep that in mind.”
Simurtr looked at Deban.
He was hard to read, and for that reason, he didn't seem very trustworthy.
‘That bastard, I think he's going to tell him.’
Following the Star-Breaking Style.
He might have to think of another excuse.
He really couldn't think of anything for this one.
***
Orde finished compiling all the details.
Simurtr and Beden, who had returned, had nothing else to do. The 3rd Sword Order that had accompanied them just had to return to their quarters, and the Black Snake just had to rest until orders came down from the Degrate main family.
Among those who had returned, the only busy person was Orde. At least, that's what Simurtr thought and pitied.
Because Deban's report wouldn't take that long.
“You've worked hard.”
“Not at all.”
But it wasn't so.
Deban studied Aran, who was sitting across from him.
He was holding a stack of documents. The speed at which he turned the pages was truly slow. It was the report that Deban had just written and submitted in front of him.
“Can you tell me verbally as well?”
Aran opened his mouth after he had finished looking through the report. How long did it take? If he told him the time, the adjutant Naor wouldn't believe it.
“Of course.”
A written report, a verbal report, and cross-verification through them. Thorough. Deban thought as he cleared his throat.
‘Why?’
6th Head of the Sword, Aran Lubeil.
A great tree respected by all the swordsmen of Mectera.
That immense respect was due to the sword.
His position was one thing, but that position was achieved with the sword and had been protected by the sword.
He left most of the work other than the sword to his adjutant.
‘That kind of person.’
The current Aran was meticulous. It was a rare sight in Mectera.
“Ah, you can skip your story a bit.”
Something he would normally have just thrown to his adjutant Naor, he made him write the report in front of him and even give a verbal report.
‘Does that mean the young master is that important?’
Deban was chosen as a companion for this mission.
Because Simurtr had brought him, and among the current Sword Order members, he liked Deban the most.
So Aran was being considerate.
At least, that's what Simurtr knew.
“Shall I start from the banquet at Bahab?”
“Please do.”
Thinking about the words to say. Uttering the reviewed words.
In the midst of that, the fact that separate thoughts did not cease was not a difficult task for Deban.
The test subject of the Kua, his birth, his excellent intuition and resourcefulness. Such wits that arise from the head were predicted even before his birth.
Without being gloomy about that fact, Deban knows how to make good use of such abilities.
‘We're already in the same boat.’
As he mentioned Haryun Bahab, Deban thought. Aran Lubeil was not an enemy.
He thought of Simurtr as much as he did, no, even more so.
‘The reason I came to the 6th Sword Order is also thanks to the young master.’
What if Simurtr hadn't mentioned Deban's name?
He could say for sure that Aran Lubeil would not have given a man named Deban a second glance.
“Ah, wait. Wouldn't it be better for you to watch while you talk? To save time.”
“Yes.”
Time. He was probably intending to go see the young master who had just arrived. Deban answered with a bright smile.
Deban took out a crystal ball from his pocket. From the start of the mission until now, everything from this journey was contained within it.
“My apologies. I had no intention of seeing your private matters.”
“It's alright. We're already in the same boat.”
“Hmm, thank you for thinking of the young master that way.”
Not the 6th Sword Order, but the young master.
Deban roughly understood Aran's ideology.
Though it had been less than a year since they met, Aran's thoughts revolved around Simurtr.
And Deban did not find such an ideology strange.
Before this mission, it might have been different, but now he was in the same position.
“There will be some missing parts. It wasn't easy to record without the young master noticing.”
“Hmm, I understand. The young master is a sensitive one. You only took it out when you were at a distance from the young master, right?”
“Of course.”
Simurtr was obsessed with and sensitive to mana.
Within a certain range. If he tried to do something within about 5 meters, he would definitely be caught. Deban had not forgotten Aran Lubeil's warning.
‘Even Adjutant Naor wouldn't be this thorough.’
A written report, a verbal report, and even submitting a recording from a magic tool. Deban had never experienced such a strict cross-verification.
Even Naor, the strictest in Mectera, doesn't do this. Even the spell-slingers of the Magic Tower wouldn't be this thorough.
“I told you the method to deal with the Great Magician.”
“Yes.”
“The last will too.”
“Wasn't it? The young master said so, so I thought it was real.”
“This Head of the Sword? Someone else's, at that? Impossible.”
It was something I didn't have either.
When the video ended, Aran Lubeil said.
“He's weak to minors, aggressive, goes crazy when he sees an enemy, goes berserk when he sees blood, looks down on magicians, casually uses someone else's name, and his sword path is also...”
Exactly the same.
Replaying the scene where Simurtr was fighting, Aran Lubeil laughed like a madman.