Chapter 28 : Chapter 28
Sevha stood by the window of his second-floor room at an inn in Rasseu, gazing out at the night-devoured city.
Perhaps because of the tragedy in the square hours earlier, Rasseu was unnervingly quiet.
But that quiet was soon shattered.
“Ngh!”
By a strange cry from Teresse.
Sevha looked back to see Legra crudely tending to a wound on Teresse with strong spirits as she sat on the edge of the bed.
“It hurts, Legra!”
“Don’t fuss over a little scratch, Witch.”
“It’s not fussing! And only untaught healers treat wounds with alcohol…!”
As if to silence her, Legra pressed the alcohol-soaked cloth firmly against Teresse’s face.
She shrieked again and threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly.
“Witch! What are you—I can’t breathe…! Lord Sevha! Save…!”
“It hurts, Legra!”
As Teresse and Legra engaged in their usual antics, Sevha let out a deep sigh.
He then voiced the matter that had been troubling him.
“So you think I can become the Marquis of Blanc?”
Teresse collapsed onto the bed, still holding the struggling Legra in her arms.
She glanced at Sevha and answered, “You are the last direct descendant of the Marquis of Blanc. If the first in the line of succession doesn’t inherit the title, who will?”
“And if a Dan Anse inherits the Blanc title? Do you reckon the Empire and the Knight Kingdom will stand by and do nothing?”
“We simply have the Marquis announce that you are not a Dan Anse, but the child of a hidden concubine.”
Sevha weighed whether Teresse’s ploy was truly clever or simply a misstep.
As his silence stretched on, Teresse released Legra.
She said coldly, “Can a hunter with nothing but his own two hands take down the prey he seeks?”
The prey Sevha wanted to hunt were powerful.
As Teresse implied, the hunt was impossible in his current state.
So, Sevha decided to at least hear her out. “So? What do you want me to do?”
“Hm? Just meet your grandfather and shout, ‘I love ya, Gramps!’ Won’t he just say, ‘Me too, my little shit of a grandson!’ and give you the title?”
“…Are you serious?”
“Serious… Pfft!”
Teresse burst out laughing, amused by the very thought of Sevha yelling, I love ya, Gramps!
But when Sevha glared at her with the eyes of a hunter about to strike, she immediately stopped.
“First, let’s meet the Marquis,” she said.
“How? Go to the front of the castle and announce that a Dan Anse has arrived?”
Teresse stood beside Sevha.
She pointed out the window to a distant building, the one most brightly lit with lanterns in the Rasseu night.
“Fernoka said he was meeting the Bishop of Blanc, didn’t he?”
The building Teresse pointed to was a temple.
And so, at dawn, the party of three walked through the alleys of the castle town, the hoods of their robes pulled low.
Their early hour and hooded attire were necessary precautions; they had already made enemies in Rasseu.
Tito doesn’t seem like he’ll move immediately. Still…
Sevha moved through the alleys, listening for any sign of life. He reached the front of the temple without incident.
The temple was adorned with many high spires.
Teresse, seemingly intrigued by its appearance, spoke in a slightly excited voice.
“The style of the Knight Kingdom is certainly different from that of the Empire and the Papal See.”
“How are their styles different?” Sevha asked.
“The Empire prefers domes. The Papal See, a great many pillars. What was it like in the County of Anse?”
“If you want to meet Lusha, you bask in the light. If you want to meet the Goddess Diaka, you just hunt. Why go to the trouble and expense of building a temple?”
“A sentiment the Papal See certainly needs to hear.”
When Sevha’s party entered the temple, a priest was cleaning the hall.
The priest tensed as soon as he saw the suspiciously dressed group.
Teresse threw back her hood and offered a smile that was meant to be disarming, but which Sevha found unsettling.
“Good morning. We are Priest Fernoka’s escort. Where might we find him?”
The priest, apparently having been briefed by Fernoka, pointed toward the chapel.
“He is with Bishop Piétang.”
As Sevha’s party entered the chapel, the light of dawn enveloped them.
It was the light filtering through the chapel’s stained-glass windows.
Thirty-five stained-glass windows lined the walls of the chapel. The largest was at the front, depicting a goddess holding a sword in each hand.
Before it stood an altar, upon which rested a golden statue in the shape of the sun.
A man in his forties, dressed in a bishop’s vestments, was kneeling before the altar in prayer.
Sevha intended to wait for the man to finish, but Teresse called out as if she couldn’t care less.
“Is it all right for the largest stained-glass window in the temple to depict Jestika instead of Lusha?”
The man stopped praying and rose, turning to them with a smile.
“The position and size of a window do not signify the stature of a deity,” he answered.
“So you won’t admit that it was designed that way to avoid unnecessary backlash in the Knight Kingdom, where Jestika has many followers?”
The man gave a wry smile at Teresse’s observation and changed the subject.
“I am Piétang, Bishop of the Blanc Territory. You are companions of Fernoka the… priest, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Priest Fernoka said you would come, and so you have. The priest is in the confessional.”
“The confessional?”
“He has a habit of sleeping in them.”
Teresse pushed Sevha toward the confessional, and he entered.
The booth was so cramped one person could barely fit inside.
As Sevha sat down, Fernoka’s self-satisfied voice came from beyond the partition.
“I told you we would meet again, did I not?”
Sevha ignored Fernoka’s declaration of victory and got straight to the point.
“Can you ask Bishop Piétang to arrange a meeting for me with the Marquis of Blanc?”
“Setting aside whether I have such influence… why do you wish to meet the Marquis?”
“I want to be friends with everyone on the continent.”
“A fine dream. However, as a man notoriously friendless within the Papal See, I fear I cannot help you with that.”
After a moment of empty banter, silence fell.
Sevha decided it was time to take the plunge.
In a resolute voice, he revealed, “I am Sevha dan Anse. The Count of Anse.”
Fernoka immediately burst out laughing. “You are a bigger fish than I thought!”
“So? Will you arrange a meeting with the Marquis… my grandfather?”
“Well now…”
The moment Fernoka trailed off, Sevha drew a knife and slammed it into the partition.
The tip of the blade grazed something.
“You should know what it means for me to have revealed my identity to you.”
A sharp silence fell.
Fernoka’s voice, though calm, was serious when he spoke again.
“Sevha dan Anse. For what purpose do you seek an audience with the Marquis?”
“To prepare for a hunt.”
“What do you intend to hunt?”
“A wild boar. A snake. A bear. And… a dragon.”
Fernoka laughed even louder than before. “You would hunt even a dragon? In this age? On this continent?”
He laughed wildly, then abruptly stopped.
“I will grant your request,” he said.
“With no conditions?”
“There are conditions, but I see no need to state them. You will, in the end, accomplish what I desire.”
Leaving behind those cryptic words, Fernoka exited the confessional.
When Sevha followed, Fernoka was speaking to Piétang.
“Bishop Piétang. You said you were going to pray for the Marquis of Blanc, correct? Could you take these people with you?”
Piétang nodded without complaint.
A few hours later, with the sun high in the sky, Sevha’s party set out for Rasseu Castle in a carriage with Piétang.
The knight guarding the inner castle gate, seeing Piétang, let them pass at once, as if he were expecting them.
Having entered the castle so easily, Sevha disembarked in the courtyard and surveyed his surroundings.
Two white horses rearing on their hind legs, with a shield between them.
The castle, flying the banner of House Blanc, was twice the size of Anse Castle.
Now that I think of it, was Rasseu Castle also built by the Holy Empire?
Just then, Eshu, commander of the Blanc Knights, came out into the courtyard.
“Bishop Piétang.”
“Commander Eshu. How is the Marquis?”
“The same as ever.”
“I hope my prayers will have an effect.”
“That is my wish as well. But… who are these people with you?”
“They are… healers, brought by a priest from the Papal See.”
Eshu looked over Sevha’s party, his mouth falling slightly open when he saw Teresse.
“You’re the one I met in the square yesterday,” he observed.
“Yes. We received so much help from you then.”
Eshu, who in fact had given her no help at all, shut his mouth like a guilty man and turned abruptly.
“Since the Bishop brought you, I’m sure you will be of help. Let us go.”
Eshu led Sevha’s party into the castle.
Legra marveled at the opulent wallpaper, carpets, and decorations inside.
Sevha, in contrast, watched only Piétang’s back before quietly asking Teresse a question.
“Magus. A bishop is the religious leader of a territory, correct?”
“That’s right.”
“Then who is this Fernoka, who commands a bishop with just a few words?”
“Someone of higher rank than a bishop.”
“That chatterbox?” Sevha was skeptical.
Just then, the group arrived before a room high and deep within the castle.
The knights guarding the door opened it as soon as they saw Eshu and Piétang.
The room seemed to reflect the current state of the Blanc Territory.
Every decoration was ornate, but they were all scattered haphazardly across the floor.
Prosperous, yet descending into chaos.
The master of such a room, of such a place, was an old man.
“My Lord.”
A white-haired old man was slumped on the floor, idly tapping it with a decoration as a child might play with a toy.
The old man was tall and large-framed, enough to remind Sevha of Edgar, but he was so stooped that he projected no sense of authority.
And yet, he was the Marquis of the Blanc Territory.
Marden le Blanc.
“Marquis Marden,” Eshu called out again.
The Marquis finally turned his head toward the visitors.
He then offered Eshu a greeting they had not expected.
“Hi, brother! You’re here again! What are we playing today?”
The old man’s eyes were vacant. He spoke childish words in a deep, aged voice. His mouth hung open, drool dripping from his lips.
Sevha and Teresse understood at once why the Marquis never set foot outside the castle, and why a regent ruled in his stead.
“Teresse…” Sevha murmured.
“Guess he wasn’t just sick.”
The two exchanged a look and mouthed the same thing simultaneously.
He’s senile.
“Brother! You brought a lot of friends today! Are we going to play tag…!”
The Marquis looked past Eshu at the others, and his eyes met Sevha’s.
And then…
“Carna.”
He spoke a name, his tone now matching the deep timbre of his voice.
“My… daughter.”
Tears streamed down his face.