Chapter 20 – The Fool’s Sword (2)

Silpia paced anxiously in front of the door, wringing her hands.

Should he be awake by now? Or will it be the same as yesterday…?

It had been a while since a simple knock had given her such pause. More than anything, she hoped not to upset Cariel. He was already burdened enough; the last thing he needed was her adding to his troubles.

Though it had only been a day, his refusal to eat, especially during this crucial growth spurt, was a worrying sign. Cariel had always had a small appetite and rarely slept soundly. Things seemed to be looking up recently, but…

He missed a day of the Academy, too. He’s bound to be scolded for that…

This time, however, both Ermina and Cariel seemed to be avoiding each other. The evidence was clear: Ermina had already left for the church, cradling her swollen belly, far earlier than usual. While not uncommon, her departure this morning felt pointed. It had all begun yesterday, early in the morning.

Silpia had overheard snippets of Luelde’s conversation with Cariel from outside the door, fueling her anxiety. Luelde had explicitly instructed Cariel to apologize to his mother. His refusal could only be interpreted as defiance or stubbornness.

They don’t understand the young master’s heart…

When Patina and Cariel had suddenly clashed, Silpia initially assumed it was some form of training. However, the intensity of their exchange, the raw emotion radiating from them, had been undeniable even to her.

Alarmed, she had immediately informed Ermina. At first, Ermina seemed willing to dismiss it, assuming Patina had her reasons. Then, in an instant, her face had paled, and she’d hurried out of the room.

What Silpia witnessed next had been deeply disturbing. If Ermina hadn’t intervened… Cariel’s hands and arms…

Why did he go so far…?

The memory sent a shiver down her spine, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

Sigh.

What could she do? No matter how much she racked her brain, a solution remained elusive. A wave of helplessness washed over her, threatening to pull her under.

No. I can’t fall apart!

If she succumbed to despair, how could she possibly be there for him? At the very least, she could offer him a smile, a small beacon of support in his current turmoil.

Steeling her resolve, she smoothed her expression and took a deep breath. Just then, the door clicked open, and Silpia gasped.

“Why are you standing there like that?”

“Oh, um…” Startled, her mind momentarily blanked. Quickly recovering, she asked, “Aren’t you hungry? You haven’t eaten anything all day.”

“…A day?” Cariel tilted his head, a flicker of confusion in his eyes.

“Yes, a whole day.”

“Oh… Did something… happen?”

“No, nothing.” He paused, then added, “Judging by the light, it’s early morning, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.”

“…I’m in for it.”

Was he referring to skipping the Academy? Or to his defiance of Luelde? Still, something felt… different.

“Young Master?”

“What?”

“You seem… different somehow.”

“…Different how?”

“I… it’s hard to explain…” She struggled to articulate the change she perceived. “You seem… more mature.”

“People don’t mature overnight.”

“R-right. Of course. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

…Something was definitely off. She couldn’t pinpoint it, but he seemed more composed, more grown-up than before. Was it her imagination?

====

–How does it feel to breathe real air again after all this time?–

“…”

While Cariel knew it had been a dream, the seemingly endless ordeal he’d endured within it felt as real as the world around him. It wasn’t a memory he could simply recall; it was etched into his very being, a phantom sensation that lingered beneath his skin.

“It feels unnatural to have nothing in my hands.”

–Your words are stiff. Loosen up that tongue.–

…Are they?

–Time dulls even the sharpest resentment and rage. How are you feeling?–

“I hadn’t given it much thought until you mentioned it.”

But now…

“Now that I see them, pretending I feel nothing would be a lie.”

The moment Cariel spotted the prince and his entourage, his body instinctively tensed, his shoulders locking in place. Though his mind remained clear, years of ingrained wariness took over.

“Enjoying your indolence? Now that you’re engaged to my sister, you think you’re above consequence?”

“…”

Red hair, dark eyes. Objectively handsome, even captivating at first glance. Yet, the sight of the prince filled Cariel with a profound revulsion. If such a thing as a mortal enemy existed, this would be it. Logically, there was no need for this animosity. And yet…

Pathetic.

The prince was pathetic. And Cariel, once so powerless under his thumb, was even more so.

“*Sigh.*”

“…?” The prince and his cronies flinched at Cariel’s sigh. That was all it took.

Predictably, the prince’s face darkened. He stepped forward, practically nose to nose with Cariel. His burning gaze seemed to bore into him, the sharp lines of his face radiating malice.

“How dare you act so high and mighty?”

“…”

If Seras were here, would she intervene? Cariel vaguely recalled clinging to such hopes in the past. Back then, he’d accepted his suffering as inevitable, believing that endurance was the only path to its eventual end. That was why he’d resisted acknowledging reality; it was too painful, too hateful.

He’d longed for nightfall, for the moon’s ascent, because those fleeting hours offered a respite, a momentary freedom to breathe. His mother’s relentless nighttime demands had presented their own challenges, but they were preferable to the constant torment of the day. He’d even wished to remain awake during the moon’s reign, a pitiful and shameful desire born of weakness.

That was his past self.

When would he finally be free of this humiliating brand?

“That’s enough, Your Highness.”

“What… did you say to me?”

“Your Highness.” It was one of the prince’s lackeys, gesturing nervously at the gathering crowd. The prince scoffed, then addressed Cariel, “Let’s have a more… private conversation later. A conversation.” He punctuated his words by jabbing a finger into Cariel’s chest.

In the past, such a gesture would have ignited a furious desire for retaliation. Frustrated by his inability to act, Cariel would have retreated into himself, deeming even the thought of revenge childish and repugnant.

He disliked that about himself, his stubborn pride and narrow-mindedness.

But things were different now.

“As you wish.”

Just as she’d suggested, his time in that dream-like space had changed him. He was no longer consumed by the injustice, no longer suppressing his emotions to the point of self-destruction. This newfound composure, however fragile, highlighted the extent of his prior inner turmoil.

“…” Cariel watched the prince stalk away, then turned to continue his walk towards the Academy gates.

He remembered his past attempts to avoid the prince’s notice—arriving early or intentionally late—and cringed at his former timidity. Self-disgust was a useless emotion now.

“I’ll be waiting. For your ‘conversation.’”

How civil it would be remained to be seen.

====

“Cariel. Are you planning to be a spectator again?”

“…” Cariel gazed impassively at the swordsmanship instructor. He felt neither intimidated nor provoked by the man’s scrutinizing stare.

What had changed?

Nothing, and everything. Did rocks and trees react with anger or aggression when provoked? The principles he’d internalized no longer required conscious reinforcement; they were now a part of him.

“I’ve abandoned Imperial Swordsmanship.”

“What?” Unlike before, he spoke with unwavering conviction.

“I intend to pursue another discipline. Is that acceptable?”

“…Did Sir Luelde impart some newfangled sword style?” The instructor’s words dripped with mockery, his smirk blatant.

“As if.” Cariel mirrored the instructor’s derisive tone, and the man’s smug expression faltered.

“Are you mocking me?”

“…” Cariel could continue the verbal sparring, but even that felt like a needless expenditure of energy. In the past, he would have pressed the issue, desperate to prove something. But not anymore.

“Don’t waste your time on me. Focus on the other students.”

“Is that your excuse?”

“Do I look like I’m making excuses?”

Something was different. Not only the instructor, but the other students watching the exchange recognized the shift in Cariel’s demeanor.

“Teacher! He’s so confident; why not spar with him?”

“He’s acting like he owns the place just because he’s learned a new trick.”

“Abandoned Imperial Swordsmanship? More like it abandoned him.”

Laughter erupted around him—boisterous guffaws, snickers, and derisive scoffs. While not everyone joined in, the prince’s influence permeated the atmosphere, emboldening his sycophants.

So what?

“…” Even the esteemed princess wasn’t present. That was their justification, no doubt. Unlike him, she could skip class and receive nothing but sympathy and concern.

No. This is misdirected anger.

There was no point in blaming Elhermina. His resentment stemmed from the blatant double standard—her preferential treatment while he was scorned and belittled. If he were honest, the reason was clear. And there was no need to compare himself to her.

Don’t misdirect your resentment.

His anger was aimed at the wrong target. There was someone far more deserving of his ire.

Don’t misidentify your opponent. He wouldn’t waste his energy on misplaced emotions. Such indulgences were a drain on his mental resources—resources he needed for training.

“Then let’s do this.” Cariel’s gaze swept over the onlookers. “Instructor, why don’t you give me a personal demonstration?”

The instructor used his students as playthings, showing off his skills to boost his ego and vent his frustrations. It had always been this way.

“You wouldn’t want to disappoint the prince, would you?”

“…” They all feigned ignorance, but Cariel’s implication was clear. The situation had reached a point of no return.

So be it. He wasn’t the one who would suffer the consequences. If things went south… so what if he died? He’d died yesterday. He could die today.

“Well? Are you going to do it or not?”

Somewhere along the way, Cariel had ceased to fear meaningless things. Yet, the years of ingrained helplessness had shackled him to a false sense of fear.

Was he weak and powerless, therefore destined to cower?

No. His fear was a phantom, a nightmare of his own making. It belonged to no one else.

…Realizing this so late was frustrating…

No. It was more than that.

It was overwhelmingly, profoundly unfair.

So, so unfair.

Painfully, achingly, overwhelmingly unfair.