Chapter 13.4, Year 960 of Chronicle of Truth, The First Month of Yellow-Green Field Season (4/5)

Translator: Lizz

 

On the way back, the streets had completely fallen into darkness, leaving them eerily deserted. Particularly around the clock tower, where there were no houses nearby, the scene was shrouded in deep shadows. The only thing that illuminated the path was the pale, bluish glow of the moon.

 

Zechs felt hesitant to break the silence, so he simply walked alongside Aster without uttering a word. Whether Aster felt the same way or was just exhausted, he, too, remained silent.

 

But then, suddenly, in the midst of the darkness, Zechs thought he saw a glimmer of light. Acting purely on instinct, he abruptly shoved Aster forward.

 

“Aster!”

 

As Aster staggered, a whistling sound of wind came from behind him, the unmistakable sound of a blade slicing through air.

 

Even outside the slums, Rhiannon’s nights were far from entirely safe. Bandits and thieves lurked in the shadows, waiting for unsuspecting victims. However, even if attacked, a mage recklessly using magic for self-defense could lead to troublesome consequences later. Zechs knew this all too well. Without hesitation, he swung his foot upward, aiming for the attacker’s weapon hand. But the strike was effortlessly dodged. Shaken, Zechs swiftly repositioned himself, moving closer to Aster, ready for whatever came next.

 

“There’s no way a mage has money!”

 

Zechs shouted toward the gleaming blade emerging from the darkness, but his opponent showed no reaction. Not even to the word mage. The attacker simply pointed his sword at him, watching for an opening. And he wasn’t alone; Zechs could tell that at least four people had surrounded them.

 

(They’re not bandits…?)

 

If they weren’t after money, did that mean they’d intended to take their lives from the start? The faces of the slum dwellers he had met earlier that day flashed through his mind. But it couldn’t be them. He doubted they had swords this sharp…

 

“…Tsk!”

 

Zechs twisted, narrowly dodging the blade that carried unmistakable intent to kill.

 

…More than anything, there was no way the slum dwellers could wield a sword with such precision.

 

“This might be bad.”

 

Behind him, Aster’s voice carried a hint of tension.

 

Their attackers were clearly trained. The reason for their assault on Zechs and Aster remained unknown, but one thing was certain: if this continued, their lives were in danger.

 

(Should I use magic? But…)

 

Zechs hesitated even though he knew that getting killed would be the worst possible outcome. But before he could decide his next move, he heard a faint scream and the clash of swords. The sounds came from a short distance away. ‘Reinforcements?’, his face paled at the thought. Then, suddenly, something flew toward him. It landed heavily on the stone pavement, dropping with a deliberate precision right in front of his eyes.

 

It was a sword, still sheathed. When Zechs was still confused by the unexpected arrival of it, Aster shouted as he drew a blade free from its scabbard.

 

“Use it, Zechs!”

 

Apparently, a sword had been thrown at him as well. The confusion only deepened, but one thing was clear: if he didn’t fight, he would die.

 

For the first time in a long while, Zechs held a real sword. Drawing it from its sheath, he braced himself for battle. But his attackers were highly skilled, and before long, he found himself struggling just to defend himself. He stole a quick glance at Aster; he moved with swift footwork, effortlessly deflecting blows and striking back whenever he spotted an opening. So he wasn’t lying when he said he was good with a sword.

 

The clash of blades and sharp cries echoed through the air. Zechs fought desperately to defend himself, but as the battle wore on, the attackers must have realized it was no longer worth the effort. Like the tide receding, they silently melted away into the darkness.

 

Zechs let out a deep breath, using his sword as a makeshift cane. He had somehow survived.

 

“Are you alright, Zechs?”

 

“…I should be asking you. Though, maybe that’s a pointless question.”

 

Wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, he forced a smile despite his face was still stiff with tension. Aster, for once, didn’t look as composed as usual, his smile stiff and uneasy.

 

“I told you, I know my way around a sword.”

 

“Still… where did this sword come from?”

 

Just then, a figure emerged from the darkness, stepping forward without making a sound. Unlike Zechs, who instinctively tensed, Aster turned toward the shadow and nodded slowly.

 

“You saved us, Lance.”

 

“I’m relieved to see you unharmed.”

 

The tall figure stepped closer, near enough for his face to be discernible, then knelt before Aster, greeting respectfully.

 

Though his features were still obscured by the darkness and his frame was thin, his presence alone made it clear that this was no ordinary man. The dagger at his waist and Aster’s words confirmed it: he was the one who had saved them.

 

“Is it Mother?”

 

“…Unfortunately.”

 

The man called Lance confirmed with a grim expression. In response, Aster suddenly burst into laughter, harsh and unrestrained. It was the kind of laughter that wasn’t born from amusement, but from emotions too overwhelming to suppress, making his voice louder than intended. It was so uncharacteristic that it felt unsettling.

 

“So, she finally resorts to killing her own child for self-preservation!”

 

His voice, hurled into the darkness, carried unmistakable fury. Yet his face betrayed something else, something fragile, like a lost child on the verge of tears.

 

“…Aster?”

 

Uncertain whether to speak up, Zechs hesitated before quietly calling his friend’s name. Aster took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, then turned to Zechs with a weary smile.

 

“Sorry, Zechs. I got you involved in this.”

 

“That’s fine. But…”

 

He wanted to ask what exactly was going on, but reason held him back at the last moment. He didn’t want to force an answer that Aster might not want to give. Whatever the circumstances behind this life-threatening situation, Zechs trusted that his friendship with Aster remained unchanged.

 

But to his surprise, Aster nodded lightly.

 

“I’ll explain. But not here, it’s too risky. Let’s go to my room. You too, Lance.”

 

With those words, Aster took the lead, walking the path toward the royal castle. Zechs followed, passing the indifferent guards as they made their way back to the Iron Fortress. Lance had disappeared somewhere along the way, but by the time they returned to the room, he had somehow reappeared at their side.

 

Under the lamplight, Zechs finally faced his savior properly. To his surprise, the man had a gentle countenance. He seemed to be in his late twenties. Despite his quiet steps and the tense air around him – likely from keeping constant vigilance – there was something about him that made it hard to remain wary. Maybe it was the soft smile beneath his faded golden-brown hair. His features were well-proportioned, yet strangely unremarkable. If someone later asked Zechs to describe his face, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to do so.

 

Lance, sensing the room’s host wanting to prepare drinks, moved on his own. He handed out the tea-filled cups, and while Zechs accepted his with a slight sense of guilt, Aster took his with a casual ease, only offering thanks out of courtesy. The dynamic between the two was clear.

 

“Their target is me.”

 

Zechs and Aster sat across from each other, while Lance stood quietly behind Aster.

 

“The one who ordered it was my mother. She despises the fact that her son was born with a guiding vein.”

 

Zechs instinctively furrowed his brows. He had heard of parents who resented their children for possessing guiding veins, but to go as far as trying to kill their own child? That was unheard of.

 

“My father rebuked my mother harshly for giving birth to a child with a guiding vein. He branded me an illegitimate child and refused to acknowledge my existence.”

 

“Ridiculous. A guiding vein isn’t like hair or eye color. It’s not something inherited from one’s parents.”

 

“Exactly. But even so, the royal family couldn’t bring itself to accept that a mage had been born among them. The King refused to believe his own son had inherited his blood and was also a mage. So, to reconcile that, he convinced himself that if I had a guiding vein, then I couldn’t possibly be his child.”

 

Aster spoke of the absurd logic as if it were someone else’s problem, but before Zechs could even think to refute it, he was left utterly stunned.

 

“…Wait a second. Did you just say royal family?”

 

“I did.”

 

“The King’s…”

 

He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. The thought that it couldn’t be true stopped him.

 

“You’ve heard the rumors too, haven’t you, Zechs? About the Mad Prince of Lavarta.”

 

The story of the Mad Third Prince was well-known throughout Lavarta, especially in Rhiannon. Zechs had never cared much for royal affairs, but since coming to the capital, he had heard the rumors often enough to be familiar with them.

 

“Hart is my wet nurse’s surname. My real name is Astoria Velba Cornot, third son of King Odisyn.”

 

It was hard to believe at first, but now it made sense why the third prince was rarely seen in public. If a prince possessed a guiding vein, the royal family would do anything to keep it hidden, or erase it entirely.

 

“You’re kidding me…”