Chapter 56 : Chapter 56
The service was over. But even on the road back to the castle, Sevha could not bring himself to broach the subject with Duce.
Each time he tried, Duce would divert the conversation with long, meaningless pronouncements.
This dance continued until dusk, when they stood beside the castle training ground.
It would be better if he just said, “I have no desire to speak with you, so be gone!”
It was a contradictory stance: Duce would not engage, yet he would not send him away. As Sevha pondered this, he realized the reason for it.
“Will you hurry up and say what you want to say, so you can then listen to what I want to say?”
Sevha’s tone was devoid of courtesy. The Knight of Ornament guarding Duce glared at him.
“Don’t look at me like that. The Prince and I have seen each other at our worst fighting the Carved Tusks. Isn’t that right?”
Duce recalled the wretched state he had been in during that battle.
“Yes. After that display, there is little need for pretense. Withdraw. I have something to discuss with the young lord alone.”
The Knight of Ornament, recognizing the sincerity in Duce’s plain tone, immediately moved to a respectful distance.
Once they were alone, Duce finally spoke his mind.
“Do you know why I attended the service today? It was to mourn my knights who died fighting the Tusks.”
Sevha then understood the reason for Duce’s strange attitude. “So you were sulking.”
“How can you speak so lightly when so many died because of your schemes?”
Sevha’s strategy had brought victory, but Duce’s knights and the Count’s army had paid dearly for it.
Sevha knew this. He knew, but his reply was cold.
“If someone must die, it is right that it be those who carry a weapon.”
Duce flinched at the statement. He clenched his teeth, as if he could neither agree nor refute it.
“Yes. You are right. You are right. It is the right thing to say, but even so…”
Duce paused, then let out a long sigh. His shoulders slumped as if to say, What was the use?
He changed the subject. “Enough. Now let me hear what you have to say. What is it you want from me that you have followed me all day?”
Sevha finally brought up the real issue. “Have the King recognize my succession to the title.”
The right to decide the heir belonged to the holder of the title, but the King always gave the final, nominal permission. In the case of the Marquisate of Blanc, that was, of course, the King of Blanc.
“I see. It is because the Marquis is bedridden.” Duce understood the situation at once, and his shoulders slumped even further. “But you have sought out the wrong person. I do not have the power to grant your request.”
“Then at least deliver the message to the King.”
“The mute cannot speak.”
“Since when were you mute?”
To Sevha’s question, Duce answered with bitterness. “In Jershu, a hunchback is the same as a mute. The words of one who is not a knight have no value. And…”
Duce explained the absolute principle of the current Knight Kingdom of Jershu.
“His Majesty, my father, now more than ever, does not treat a man who is not a knight as a person.”
Duce finished his story in a sad voice. “So find another way. Do not expect anything from a clown who can never be a knight.”
Sevha was in a bind. There was no one else but Duce he could ask to settle the succession issue cleanly with the King.
I can’t let this matter end vaguely. I have to make the Prince at least deliver the message.
To Sevha, Duce’s stubbornness seemed to stem from a lack of confidence.
A way to raise his confidence, even just a little…
As Sevha pondered, a sound came from the training ground.
“One more time, please!”
When Sevha and Duce turned their heads, they saw Legra, Eshu, and Tataka.
Legra was sparring with Eshu and Tataka, and after every bout, he was sent rolling in the dirt.
Learning how to fight… from those two.
A Hunter’s child learning the ways of combat from a knight and a member of the Tusk Tribe. It was a sight he could never have imagined while living in Anse.
It gave Sevha a strange feeling, a feeling for which he did not yet have a name.
His thoughts broke when a fragile voice rose beside him.
“I envy him.”
Duce was watching Legra, his gaze filled with jealousy and longing. He gave off the air of a warrior resigned to his own dissolution, as if a single touch would be enough to see him contentedly crumble to dust.
Sensing this, Sevha felt a tightness in his chest. To escape this nameless frustration, he focused once more on the purpose of their meeting.
Duce is being stubborn because he lacks confidence. A way to raise it, even just a little…
Watching Legra, the object of Duce’s endless gaze, Sevha found his method.
“If you’re so envious, shall I teach you?”
“Teach me what?”
“How to fight.”
“You speak nonsense. I am a hunchback who cannot ride a horse or bear the weight of armor.”
Sevha replied lightly, as if none of that mattered. “You can fight without riding a horse or wearing armor.”
Sevha’s continued persuasion made Duce hesitate.
Sensing that just a little more prodding was needed, Sevha asked, “When you fought with my help before, didn’t it feel good?”
Duce recalled the exhilaration he had felt then. “It was like being a knight in a novel.”
The Prince smiled like a child dreaming of being a hero and looked at Sevha.
“Very well. Let us give it a try. However… why do you wish to teach me?”
Sevha could hardly say, “To give you the courage to face your father,” so he just said the first thing that came to mind.
“So I can bash you later if you annoy me. Not like I can strike a man who doesn’t even know how to fight, can I?”
***
It was noon at the training ground, a time that would normally be quiet after the midday meal. But today, nearly all of the Blanc Knights and Duce’s knights were gathered nearby.
The grounds were so crowded all because of Sevha and Duce.
“Well then, shall we begin, Prince?” Sevha asked politely, sensing the knights’ eyes on them.
Duce replied in a theatrical tone. “Behold this wretched form. As I began in my mother’s womb, what could I possibly begin anew?”
“…You mean, ‘What should we do first,’ correct?”
“In a hundred words I seek the truth, as the fae Theseus—”
“That’s enough,” Sevha cut in mercilessly. “Run.”
“What?” Duce asked, surprised.
Sevha answered at once. “There’s a famous saying in my home, in the street where I was born. Run, and nothing bad will happen.”
“I know not how many times this song has been sung, but the fate of my flesh is cruel—”
“There’s also this saying. Run. Think while you run. So run.”
As Sevha repeated the command, Duce finally said it plainly.
“How is a hunchback supposed to run!”
But Sevha’s answer was unwavering. “I’ve never been a hunchback, so I wouldn’t know. Just run.”
Realizing he could not break Sevha’s will, Duce decided to play along and began to run. Sevha immediately fell into step beside him.
What began as a run was not a run at all.
Hmm. Looks like hunchbacks really can’t run.
Duce moved at a pace only slightly faster than walking with his cane. He even had trouble balancing, stumbling constantly.
But at this rate… it’s going to be hard to see what I want to see.
Wanting Duce to move more violently, Sevha provoked him. “Can’t you run any faster?”
“Fate is a fetter, and that fetter is bound to my legs…!”
“Wouldn’t it be better to use the energy for that speech in your legs?”
As Sevha continued to taunt him, Duce yelled, “You try living in this damn body!”
“My own body is currently stitched together.”
“You truly never concede a single word!”
Right then, Duce’s legs tangled, and he tumbled wretchedly to the ground. The Knight of Ornament immediately ran to help him up.
“Your Highness! This is… this is torment. Let us stop here.”
Sevha ignored the knight, his eyes fixed on Duce as he continued his provocation.
“You can stop. Though a village child could run faster and longer than this.”
Duce’s brow furrowed. He pushed the Knight of Ornament away and began to run again.
“How many laps must I run!”
“I told you, you can stop.”
“How many laps!”
“If you want to run so badly, then run until I tell you to stop.”
Sevha stopped running and simply watched Duce.
He was faster than before. And because he was faster, he fell more quickly.
But each time, Duce somehow got up and ran again. Running, falling, running, falling.
The knights watched in dismay as Duce’s handsome face became caked in dirt. Soon, talk of stopping him began to spread among them.
But that talk was cut short by the Knight of Ornament, who should have been more worried about Duce than anyone.
“Do not interfere.” The knight watched Duce with eyes that were at once pained and proud. “This is what His Highness desires.”
In contrast, Sevha was coldly observing Duce. He uses his muscles in a peculiar way.
The Prince’s body was bent, twisted, and strange. So very different from Sevha’s own.
And so, as Duce ran with all his might, Sevha studied that body, researching how it might best be used.
His center of gravity is low, and his arm muscles are developed from heavy use of the cane…
Sevha’s observation continued for a long time, until Duce, caked in mud and sweat, finally collapsed.
“Ugh!”
Sevha approached the fallen Prince. “I haven’t told you to stop running yet.”
“You’re worse than your grandfather!”
“My grandfather?”
“Yes! I received knight training from the Marquis when I was a child! It was utterly useless, but still!”
Duce heaved with exhaustion and agitation.
Sevha smiled faintly. “And so? Do you regret that useless time you spent?”
Duce immediately shouted back, “Nonsense! It was when I felt most alive!”
“…My grandfather would be happy to hear that.” Secretly pleased by this unknown story of his family, Sevha smiled slightly and clapped his hands together. “In any case, thanks to your diligent running, I now know what to teach you.”
As Duce stared at him, expectant, Sevha gave a wicked smile and handed him a wooden sword.
“I will teach you how to properly crawl on the ground.”
***
A gate stood on the road connecting the capital of the Jershu Kingdom and the Blanc Territory. Since the Great Underground Road was sealed, few traveled this way, so the gate soldiers were passing the time with idle talk, as they did every day.
“Heard the young lord from the pleasure districts defeated the Tusk Tribe.”
“I heard he made them his allies.”
“…Whatever it was, the matter’s fixed!”
“Right, right!”
As the soldiers laughed, they saw a procession of riders in the distance. Startled by the sudden travelers, they hastily took their positions.
Soon, the procession halted.
“St-State your identity!” a soldier called out.
A man with the face of a weasel came to the front. “Open the way at once! I am a glorious knight and messenger of Lord Milte Barsh, the third son of the Lion King, the glorious conqueror of Jershu!”
“Y-You’re a messenger of His Majesty?”
“No! I am a glorious… I said I am the messenger of the Third Prince!”
The weasel-faced man, impatient with the guard’s slow reaction, threw a scroll at his face. The scroll fell to the dust after striking the guard.
It read: In the name of the Barsh Royal Family, an investigation will be conducted regarding the sealing of the Great Underground Road.