Chapter 71 : Chapter 71
Chapter 71: Mausoleum of the Sword Masters (1)
It was about five days after my return that a guest other than Arnea visited the west annex.
“Naor?”
He was a rare guest.
Simurtr’s eyes widened.
“Ah, Young Master. You were here.”
“What’s the matter?”
A Sword Master who should have been fine even after circling the vast Mectera territory was panting.
“It’s nothing. No, um… is the 6th Head of the Sword here by any chance?”
“Aran?”
Aran Lubeil’s disappearance. Or perhaps, running away from home.
It was news Simurtr had also heard. But since he was a man known for his eccentricities, everyone supposedly thought it was just him being himself.
“Yes, he usually returns in three or four days, but he still hasn't come back to the 6th Sword Order.”
However, it seemed his direct subordinate, Naor, had a different opinion.
‘Right. From Naor's perspective, he just bailed.’
The term ‘running away’ stuck because he had disappeared after dumping all his duties on Naor.
“Well. He probably found a talent he likes somewhere.”
Aran’s patrols of the territory were impulsive.
Whenever he disappeared like this and returned, he would bring back one or two talents to send to the training centers.
“Yes, so usually I could find him easily. If the 6th Head of the Sword is roaming around, some part of the territory is bound to get noisy.”
Aran Lubeil was one of the famous figures in the Mectera territory. He had served Mectera longer than anyone, frequently went out into the territory during his breaks, and was more interested in finding talent than the other Heads of the Sword.
For the swordsmen living in Mectera, Aran’s patrol of the territory was a golden opportunity.
“And since the Young Master arrived, he hasn’t gone out. That’s why I thought he might be here….”
Since Simurtr’s arrival, Aran’s attention had been solely focused on him. That was why Naor’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Simurtr now.
“Are you suspecting me right now?”
“…There’s no way, right?”
His words said otherwise, but his eyes were full of suspicion.
“Why would I hide Aran? He’s not a woman.”
“…Really?”
“If you don’t believe me, come in and search.”
Simurtr took half a step aside and pointed to the door.
As he went that far, the look in Naor’s eyes returned to normal.
“If you happen to see him, please do….”
“If I meet him, I’ll catch him and deliver him to you.”
“Thank you.”
Just how hard must it be for him?
Having received a firm promise, Naor bowed his head deeply with sparkling eyes.
The dark circles under his eyes contrasted sharply with his gleaming gaze. Simurtr suddenly felt sorry for Naor.
“Simyun.”
Not long after sending Naor off, another new guest arrived. This time, it was Medeoban, whom I had met five days ago.
“It is Simurtr.”
“Are you excluding only this old man? Everyone else calls you Simyun. I think Simyun is more comfortable for me too. It rolls off the tongue nicely.”
A way of closing the distance.
Medeoban thought so and smiled benevolently.
“It’s a name my mother gave me.”
“What mother would dislike me calling my grandson by a pet name?”
“…Do as you please. So, what brings you here today?”
Simurtr said, rubbing his forearm.
Even though he was wearing martial attire, he could feel goosebumps. That chilling sense of familiarity. Simurtr had yet to figure out the cause and reason for that sense of unease.
“I came because I wanted to see my grandson.”
“Please stop.”
“Alright. Is Aran here, by any chance?”
“…Grandfather, did you come here for that too?”
“Too? Did someone else come?”
“Adjutant Naor was just here. He asked the same thing as you, Grandfather.”
“Aish. That means he’s not here. Tsk. That fool, how old is he to still think he’s in his prime.”
“Are you worried?”
“Worried? About him?”
Medeoban chuckled heartily as if it were a very amusing joke.
“In Mectera, the only one who can harm that man is the Sword Master. Or this old man.”
Simurtr nodded his head.
It was a sorry thing to say about the deceased Kelken, but if Aran had been there with Beden, Janya and Beden would probably not have been kidnapped.
“No need to worry. He’ll come back on his own when he’s done with his business. You may not know, but he was always like this before you came.”
Before I came.
Medeoban said something similar to Naor.
That part bothered Simurtr.
‘He stopped his eccentricities after I came.’
But the eccentricities he had stopped had started again.
It would be one thing if he were away on a mission, but Aran disappeared on the very day Simurtr returned.
‘Deban was the last one to see him.’
Aran had disappeared after hearing Deban's report on the mission.
Kainan, Bahab, and the Black Tower.
As requested, Deban said he had reported everything to Aran except for the part about the last words, which he had kept silent about.
‘The Star-Breaking Style and the last words.’
I needed to prepare an excuse for those two things.
The problem was the latter. The former could be fudged somehow, but no matter how much I thought about it, there was no answer for the latter.
I could only hope that Deban had handled it well.
‘No way. He wouldn't have said it. I asked him so earnestly.’
After all I had done for him.
‘No. Could he have?’
I had snatched away Kua, Deban's prey.
At the time, he might have let it pass, saying it couldn't be helped, but now that it was over, he might have felt it was a waste.
The Black Tower was small fry, but even that small fry was a delicacy to Deban. Simurtr thought of Deban for a moment and nodded.
‘I would have done the same.’
Anyway.
Now Simurtr had to repay his debt to Aran. To think he founded the 6th Sword Order and searched so hard for Exa's body.
Aran must have been eagerly waiting for the moment Simurtr would speak about the Star-Breaking Style.
‘But he disappeared.’
He started his eccentricities again after stopping them?
Forsaking the moment he had longed for so much?
Perhaps this time, it wasn't just a simple eccentricity.
‘There must be a reason.’
Why? That was the reason a sudden worry arose.
Because unless it was against his will, I couldn't think of any reason for Aran to disappear.
“Are you sure it’s just an eccentricity?”
Simurtr asked Medeoban.
No matter how much I wracked my brain, no answer came. In that case, I had no choice but to ask someone else.
“Tsk. What other reason would there be for him to disappear? I told you not to worry.”
Mectera’s security had already been breached through a warp. It had happened once already, which meant they were on high alert.
Nevertheless, Medeoban was annoyed. He was saying that no matter what, there was no way Aran could have been taken down.
‘The old man would know better than me.’
He was different from Simurtr, who had been with him in the distant past and briefly reunited during the Doom War. Medeoban was the one who had watched Aran the longest in Mectera.
Simurtr shook off the shallow anxiety that had crept in.
“…Aren’t you leaving?”
Simurtr suddenly blurted out.
Even though the conversation was over, Medeoban remained standing there blankly.
“What? You brat. How long has it been since we met, and you’re already trying to kick me out?”
Medeoban flared up in anger and fumbled at his waist. It was clearly a habit, but Medeoban was not carrying a sword.
“Wasn’t your business finished?”
He came to find Aran.
That was what Simurtr had thought of Medeoban's visit.
“No. Aran was just something I mentioned out of curiosity. I have another reason for coming.
Though my desire to see my grandson was also great.”
In an instant, the smile vanished from Medeoban's face.
An utterly serious expression. Simurtr could roughly read Medeoban's expressions. That meant he had brought a matter related to Mectera.
“Have you ever been to Bahab?”
Thump. For a moment, my chest pounded violently.
I even blamed this life's body. My body in my past life had rarely felt such sensations.
‘How did he know?’
I forcibly stopped my eyes from naturally darting away. If they moved now, it would be really suspicious. Even Medeoban had that much sense.
“Or met someone related to Bahab.”
Simurtr stole a glance at Medeoban’s expression.
It wasn't a face of certainty.
“Does anything come to mind?”
“No, nothing.”
“Keuk.”
As Simurtr replied with a blank expression, a sound of someone stifling a cough came from behind Medeoban.
It was Orde. At some point, Orde had started standing there secretly.
‘He didn't tell.’
He doesn't know. Simurtr saw Orde mouth the words. Orde had not told Medeoban about this matter.
“Why bring up the Hero Families all of a sudden? Of all places, the forbidden area of the main castle.”
“…Really nothing?”
Medeoban’s eyes turned to the sky and then back.
“Really nothing.”
“Your first mission was Huit. Your second mission was Kainan in the west. Both are places from which one could go to Bahab if they set their mind to it. Huit is right next to it, after all.”
Medeoban’s eyes gradually narrowed.
Resembling a flounder's, they scanned Simurtr.
“Really nothing? I’m not trying to blame you. This old man needs to grasp the whole situation to respond, doesn't he?”
This time, it was persuasion.
Simurtr was certain. Right now, Medeoban only had suspicions. No, even those suspicions weren't complete.
You're the only one who would do this. Although I don't know why you're doing this, that's what Medeoban was saying.
“Really, nothing. Unfairly so. I don’t know why you’re asking, but wouldn’t Beden be more likely than me?”
“…Yes. That could be possible.”
I had just tried to deflect, and it had worked.
Medeoban’s mouth trembled once.
The ones who attacked Mectera and kidnapped Janya and Beden were Phantasmal Ability users. Warp, Doom Species… things that had become the main castle's shame.
Mectera, called the holy land of the sword, had been breached. Not only that, but the lady of the house and a direct descendant were kidnapped, and the lady of the house died.
If it hadn’t been for Degrate, they wouldn't have even reached their destination, the Black Tower. They would have focused only on the warp, without finding any trace of the Doom Species.
Degrate's Black Snake had still not left. In fact, they were calling for more support.
‘The Black Tower is just the tail.’
The Doom Species. The father of the Black Land.
Based on the information Orde brought back, they would publicly plan a new move.
Mectera would not tolerate the force that had touched Janya and Beden. Degrate, their collaborator, was strangely burning with motivation.
‘It will be difficult. And it will take a long time.’
The Black Land and the Doom Species. If they decided to hide, they were an incredibly difficult bunch to catch. Especially with a Phantasmal Ability user mixed in.
Simurtr and Medeoban, who had dealt with them to the point of exhaustion, knew this better than anyone.
“Is that why you came?”
But Simurtr replied indifferently.
Doom Species? If he met them, he would gladly beat them down, but he had no intention of seeking them out to do so. Antipathy, disgust, hatred for the Doom Species. Those feelings still existed, but.
‘That’s not what’s important right now.’
The enemies Simurtr had designated in this life were only the traitors. He felt he had done his part by participating in his past life's war. After being backstabbed and killed, he had no time to worry about others.
If a traitor and a Doom Species were in front of him, Simurtr would not hesitate to beat down the traitor first.
“I have nothing that comes to mind. Nothing related to Bahab.”
“Keub.”
Simurtr tried his best to ignore Orde.
Fortunately, Medeoban seemed too lost in thought to notice Orde standing far away.
“…Alright. I’m not suspecting you. This came. Have a look.”
Medeoban handed something over. A letter. It looked like one. Simurtr unfolded it. It was coated with a faint magic. It was to prevent damage.
“…An invitation?”
It was indeed a letter. An invitation could be called that if one insisted.
“Yes. It’s from Bahab.”
At the bottom of the letter, a crest was engraved.
A blazing blue flame. The symbol of Bahab.
“Hejel Bahab’s birth banquet.”
-We hope for the participation of Mectera, one of the main actors and a comrade-in-arms in the Doom War.
“One of? Comrade-in-arms? Don’t they add ‘Hero Family’?”
Simurtr frowned after reading the invitation.
“…They apparently added it for Basor.”
“The Bahabs are quite arrogant, aren't they.”
…Somewhat commanding and short. And thus feeling all the more arrogant. An invitation reeking of Akarr Bahab.
“I will go.”
Being born as Mectera’s adopted son.
Obtaining the Pagna that was there.
Discovering the Pegna this time.
Simurtr decided to now empathize with the philosophy of a fatalist. Perhaps reincarnation was a destiny that was meant to be.
“Ah, Grandfather.”
“What is it?”
“Do you happen to know where the tombs of the previous Sword Masters are?”
“They are inside the Senate of Elders, but why do you ask?”
“Still, I am an adopted son in name. Shouldn't I go to pay my respects?”
“An excellent thought. Yes. Let’s go. This old man will accompany you.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Tsk.”
“I won’t go with Father either.”
“……”
“Huh. Orde, when did you get here?”
***
“…Mectera’s Sacred Mountain.”
As far as I knew, it didn't have a separate name.
Because it belonged to Mectera. Mectera was enough. The simple-minded swordsmen had passed the ages that way.
The path to the Senate of Elders was not a mountain trail. It was rough and steep. Different from the cabin where Beden and Kelken had lived. It was an area where the Sacred Mountain's regenerative power was concentrated.
Simurtr climbed, cutting through the undergrowth that came up to his waist. Tak. Tatak. The magic coating his body easily burned away the poison-laced grass.
“The summit.”
And a cliff.
Simurtr saw its cross-section. A half-mountain. It was the Mectera he had cut down in his past life.
I was capable of things like this. It was embarrassing, but such a thought crossed my mind.
Because it was something out of reach. Something my current body couldn't do.
“Damn it.”
It was a futile thought. Simurtr turned his body. The cliff gave Simurtr no particular feeling.
Feeling. No, curiosity. Or perhaps, suspicion.
What could give him that was something else. A barrier. Simurtr opened the entrance to the Senate of Elders. Lacking black magic, Simurtr chose his own blood as the key.
‘To hide the Star-Breaking Style.’
Mectera used black magic as a key.
If they used white magic, the Star-Breaking Style, as a key, there was a chance it might become known to the outside world. Although few knew of the Star-Breaking Style's existence, there was no harm in being careful.
‘But.’
Aran had mentioned the Star-Breaking Style.
It wasn't just to reminisce about the past, nor was it to test me out of suspicion. It was certainty. Aran had precisely targeted Simurtr.
‘The exile mansion.’
The exile mansion.
Let’s say the secret manual for the Star-Breaking Style was there.
I felt sorry for Aran, but there was nothing I could do.
‘He’s different from Semenu. Aran is looking for my body.’
This was certain. It was what Semenu had said, and Simurtr trusted Baperr.
The person in question, Exa, was already dead, and Aran was chasing after his corpse.
But Simurtr had learned the Star-Breaking Style. How? A secret manual wasn't an entirely unbelievable lie.
“Who goes there?”
“It’s our young master.”
“Ah. The adopted young master?”
The bored elders of the Senate of Elders.
Old but familiar former Heads of the Sword. Simurtr ignored them and walked. Without needing to open his mouth, his footsteps would answer for him.
“Ah, so he’s going there.”
“Isn’t this Young Master Simurtr’s first time?”
“Mm. He should go at least once. He is a Mectera, after all.”
The mausoleum.
Simurtr looked back once. The Senate of Elders was no longer in sight. The mausoleum was in the deepest part of the Sacred Mountain.
“There are a lot.”
The forest ended. Burial mounds. In the wide-open plain, Simurtr saw them with swords stuck in them. In Mectera, the beloved sword from one’s lifetime became their tombstone.
38.
Without needing to count, I knew the number.
Orde was well, and the 36th Sword Master, Medeoban, was alive, but the number of burial mounds was not 36.
“Gerehk was such an idiot too. What’s so noble about the Mausoleum of the Sword Masters?”
The two burial mounds that shouldn't be there were tombs made by Exa in his past life. He had found their beloved swords on the lost and halved Sacred Mountain and stuck them in himself.
“You used to be taller than Aran.”
His forearms had been as thick as logs. Simurtr stroked the sword of the former 1st Head of the Sword. It was dull from lack of maintenance, but it felt like it could still cut. It was a line that drew a distinction between his past life and his present one.
…He had been on good terms with the former Heads of the Sword.
Perhaps he had even thought of them as family, or somewhere around there. The memory of being quite happy to reunite with them when he joined the war was vivid.
“You should have just defended it half-heartedly.”
What meaning did that damn Mectera hold?
“What was so great about that bastard Gerehk? You know, he was the bastard who planned to just cremate you guys and scatter your ashes casually on the Sacred Mountain. Because even the summit was too much trouble. At the entrance.”
The burial mound right next to the former 1st Head of the Sword's belonged to the one who had lost his life in Gerehk's place during the battle on the Sacred Mountain.
“Did you know? He was a bastard who tried to snatch your tombstone too.”
The former leader of the Black Sword Order. The Head of the Black Sword. The Sword Master's personal guard.
The tombstone stuck in that burial mound was his beloved sword, which Gerehk had intended to take as a trophy from the finished battlefield.
“I should have fed that bastard’s ashes to some neighborhood dog.”
Dying so conveniently on his own.
And of illness, no less. Simurtr let out a hollow laugh. He wasn't someone who deserved to die so peacefully.
‘Aran Lubeil is insane.’
The more I passed between the burial mounds. The closer I got to the 37th Sword Master's, the more Semenu's words echoed in my head.
Gerehk Mectera's burial mound, his coffin. That could explain Aran? Simurtr couldn't understand the connection. What else could be in there besides a corpse?
“Baita.”
Mectera's Black Sword.
As if to symbolize it, a pitch-black blade. Gerehk's beloved sword. Baita.
Looking at it this way, even Mectera, who supposedly only cared about practicality, was not without its flair. To use a masterpiece sword, passed down through generations and usable again with a little maintenance, as a mere tombstone.
‘One of the things that symbolizes Mectera.’
That anyone with talent could become a Head of the Sword, and that Mectera's secret techniques were permitted.
That the master of Mectera was called the Sword Master, not the Duke.
That the Mausoleum of the Sword Masters was held in high regard.
Pook. Baita was pulled out without difficulty. Simurtr looked at the gap Baita had pierced. A thin void. A faint blackness visible beyond the dirt.
It wasn't difficult to make out its outline.
White magic smoothly split the solid burial mound.
On the flattened surface, Simurtr put his hand into the ground. Carefully. So as not to damage the coffin. Without using magic.
Winter had not yet arrived. The cool wind had not yet hardened the ground. His hand scooped up the soil with great ease.
“……”
It was a pitch-black coffin. The Black Sword of Mectera was engraved on the side facing the sky. Simurtr cleanly wiped away the messy dirt left on the coffin.
“There should only be bones left.”
20 years. A corpse that was 20 years old.
What could be learned from that? No, perhaps the bones had already crumbled to dust.
A fatal injury, useless even if you poured an elixir on it. The authority of the Doom Species.
He had been contaminated. It was likely a much more severe contamination than Medeoban’s past injury.
“No, that’s not it.”
Wrong. It wasn't just bones. His magic-infused eyes caught the coffin. To be precise, the Black Sword engraved on it. The dots, the lines that composed it. Each one of them was a formula.
It was a formula that Simurtr, a layman in magic, could not read.
The reason Simurtr could read their formulas at the Black Tower and predict the magic that would manifest was because they were mostly used in battle and were things he had experienced before.
If it wasn't something one would see on a battlefield, Simurtr couldn't deduce the formula even if a flow of magic occurred.
“Preservation.”
But even so, it wasn't that difficult to figure out what the formula composing the Black Sword was for.
What kind of formula would be engraved on a coffin? It was obvious.
Just as the bodies of Melken's successive emperors or the heads of House Basor were preserved in their state at the time of death.
“…Even if he was an idiot, he was a precious son to him.”
Gerehk Mectera's body was also being maintained in the same state as when he was alive.
Simurtr carefully opened the coffin. It looked new. There was no sound of old, worn-out wood. The formula was also involved in the preservation of the coffin.
“Ha.”
The unique pallor of a corpse that couldn't be hidden even with a thick layer of magic. Magic couldn't restore the life that was already lost. But it made everything else possible.
He looked vividly dead, as if he had just passed. He looked much neater than the head I had cut off at the exile mansion long ago.
Black hair, closed eyes, a sharp nose, thin lips, long limbs, and resilient muscles that hadn't lost their shape due to magic. The Mectera bloodline itself.
“Gerehk Mectera.”
Real. He was really dead.
I already knew it, but facing the corpse directly made my blood boil even more.
While others died with difficulty, why did this bastard die so peacefully?
Simurtr first examined the surroundings of the corpse.
Aran Lubeil is insane. Something that represented that was in this coffin.
“Where.”
But there was nothing in the coffin.
Only Gerehk Mectera’s body. Simurtr lifted the body with magic and placed it on the ground.
The Star-Breaking Style rotated. 4-Star. A heavy magic filled his eyes. Still, nothing. The coffin was empty. Only Gerehk had existed within it.
Semenu was wrong.
Was it a lie? No. Simurtr trusted Semenu. She was a comrade who had overcome the battlefield with him.
She might play pranks on others with someone else's corpse, but she wasn't the type to tease her captain with it.
“……”
Open the coffin. Then you’ll understand.
That's what Semenu had said, and now I had opened that coffin. Inside, there was only Gerehk Mectera’s corpse.
“Gerehk Mectera.”
There was only one thing left.
The answer Semenu spoke of was in the corpse.
It must be something so obvious that even the current Simurtr could recognize it.
…Having imprinted Asha. Now, the illusion of Degrate was completely under Simurtr’s senses.
As if acquiring new knowledge, the Sword Net, having recognized Asha, had completely understood the concept of illusion.
‘Illusion.’
It was caught in the Sword Net. 4-Star. Half a step from there. The magic that passed through Pegna seeped into my eyes. I could see it. On Gerehk Mectera’s corpse, there was that green light.
‘A Phantasm.’
It was something only possible for someone at Jiaren or Semenu's level. It was that elaborate.
The corpse's chest. Simurtr reached out his hand. He tore apart the illusion that enveloped the chest.
…What was revealed was a clean wound.
A trace of having been severed and then stitched back together. A trace of having been divided at the chest into an awkward upper and lower body.
A sword wound. Someone had cut Gerehk's chest with a sword. It wasn't an injury. It was a homicide.
“Ha.”
The corners of Simurtr’s mouth twisted.
Medeoban’s words came to mind. Gerehk had left the main castle on a day of mourning and was found at the west gate. There was no mention of any external wounds.
The illusion implemented on the corpse had existed since then.
…Killing a Sword Master in one blow and forging the cause of death. Periodically visiting the mausoleum to re-implement the illusion.
“Semenu.”
The latter must have been Semenu. She knew the hidden cause of Gerehk Mectera’s death and led Simurtr to the coffin.
The wound was not Semenu's.
Semenu had no talent for the sword. But the wound was impeccably clean. Gerehk had died without a chance to evade, without being able to resist.
Without needing to trace the cut, one could guess the skill of the perpetrator just by looking at it.
Someone who could kill a Sword Master in a single blow, who was connected to Semenu.
And someone Semenu herself had mentioned.
“…Aran Lubeil.”
“Yes, Young Master.”
The voice was clear. Thud. The heavy footsteps were heard belatedly.
From behind, he was walking slowly. Simurtr didn’t look back and only scanned Gerehk’s wound.
What kind of look would Aran have in his eyes as he looked this way? If I turned around,
what kind of look would I give Aran? Simurtr didn't want to find out.
“You were here? Everyone was looking for you.”
“I felt a bit awkward saying I was coming.”
The darkest place is under the candlestick.
Aran, whom everyone in the Mectera main castle was looking for, was on the Sacred Mountain. In the deepest part. He had been waiting for Simurtr in the Mausoleum of the Sword Masters.
“How many days have you been waiting? So needlessly. How did you know when I’d come?
You should have just come with me.”
“Don’t I need time to prepare my heart as well?”
It was Aran’s sword. I was sure of it. It had been a long time since I had seen it, so it took me a while to remember. The wound on the chest was deeply imbued with traces of Aran.
“You killed him well. Cleanly. Still, he was a Sword Master in name.”
“What’s difficult about it? He was a weak man.”
A weak man. That's right. Gerehk was weak.
That's why he clung to the traitors and made Mectera into a Hero Family. He did not achieve all that with his sword.
He lacked the ability to do so with a sword. It was a violation of Mectera's principles.
Something Aran of Mectera despised.
“So you killed him?”
“Are you going to tell?”
“I’m thinking about it.”
My prey had been snatched away.
That fact gave Simurtr a sense of both emptiness and rage. And of all people, by Aran.
I wanted to tattle. If not, I wanted to kill even Aran. It was only for a moment… but such thoughts swirled in my head.
“Why. Are you going to kill me?”
“…How could I possibly kill the Young Master?”
Moisture. At the moisture in his voice, Simurtr inadvertently turned around. Aran was holding a sword.
“Isn’t it only right that I, who took it from you, should die?”
Helda.
Aran's beloved sword, which he kept in the 6th Sword Order unless it was a major incident, and which he hadn't even taken on the expedition to Degrate.
Helda, which had cut down countless enemies and would have cut down Gerehk, was touching Aran’s neck.
“Are you going to make me a murderer?”
“You would become the young hero who cut down the traitor of the main castle.”
The Senate of Elders.
Simurtr suddenly recalled the elders who were there. If Aran's body appeared here, they would become witnesses.
“Do you think they’ll believe that? The great Aran Lubeil? By me, who is only sixteen?”
“Young Master. The easiest way to kill an unassailable powerhouse is to make him your ally.”
“What?”
“That will surely work. Even if you don’t give each other your hearts. As long as there is a common enemy, it is certain.”
“You…”
Simurtr’s face hardened frighteningly.
He wasn't explaining how a sixteen-year-old Simurtr could kill Aran.
Right now, Aran was talking about the death in his past life.
“You know better than anyone, don’t you?”
Moisture.
That which had only soaked his voice finally fell from Aran’s eyes.
“Young Master Exa.”