You Think I Won't Talk?

Soon after the door to his bureau was closed in synchrony to the displeasing taste of his encounter with his oldest son, Orland immediately clicked his tongue with the distinctive pace that would summon the one meant to heed it.

*swish...*

"Your Grace. I don’t think I should’ve–"

"I can guess what he’s probably doing right now. Tell me everything I can’t imagine he’s done while we weren’t here, Bashaa."

"... Are you sure? Your demeanour doesn’t convince me."

"Say it now so I can gulp the rage and distress in one swift slash! This firstborn of mine!! How can it– I have no–...*Bang*!!! Kh."

Biting his lower lip as his fist banged the desk strongly enough to burst a piece of it open, the Duke couldn’t take the wrath his son’s behaviour helped amass his displeasure.

"..."

"... Say it. What is it that he’s been doing? What kind of mumblings he said... Tell me because I am sure those letters he sent to Marianne are the smallest of his problems."

Orland’s teeth gritted as he spoke. Recalling the first words the Scholar, a member of the Umbra Quadrigis, had told him about his motivation for training.

— There is a reason I requested this of Bashaa... Even though I had refused multiple times in the past. —

— ... I didn’t ask– —