Chapter 87
“It seems the rumors of his frail health were not false. I was skeptical, since they said he showed no such signs in Portplum….”
She spoke in a courteous tone.
Though dressed as a maid of the imperial household, the straightness of her posture and the sharp, feline cast of her eyes gave her an unmistakable air of severity.
The one who received her words was one of the two seated at the table.
She wore a dress of a design currently fashionable in the capital—bare at the shoulders and adorned with blue lace.
“Do you truly believe the man who said that, Milena? He claid he had to attend the Founding Festival in Portplum and could not remain longer, then simply left. How utterly rude.”
As she lifted her steaming teacup, the pearls on her bracelet struck one another with a soft clatter.
Her long side hair was braided and half-tied, adorned with nurous ornants. Its color resembled cherry blossoms in bloom.
After taking a sip, she spoke with a languid tone.
“That man only shows interest in gambling. Or amusent. Thrill. Power….”
“Mind your words, Lalia.”
“Oh? Did I say anything untrue, Brother? I rely stated the facts.”
“True or not, Nenchel is soone we require. Do not let careless words leak beyond these walls.”
“Honestly. Even if you did not warn , I would know to be careful.”
Lalia pursed her lips petulantly and tilted her teacup once more.
Though she feigned offense, her voice remained light.
“Is there any other news, Milena?”
“Yes. We have confird that the Second Commander of the Portplum Temple Knights remains at Reschenhardt’s side. Beyond that….”
“Maximilian. He left of his own accord and yet returns to the capital so brazenly.”
“He is said to be favored by the Holy Son, is he not? As expected of the Holy Son of the Sun—he seems to know exactly what he is doing.”
At that remark, a crease ford between the man’s brows.
“Lalia.”
“Yes, yes. Do stop scowling at , Brother. Why is it always directed at ?”
Lalia rely shrugged.
Though their appearances were similar, befitting her address of “Brother,” the atmosphere surrounding them was starkly different.
Unlike Lalia’s playful cunning, the man’s expression bore a cold rigidity.
His impression was not rely chilly—it was sharp.
His eyes shone like honed steel, as though one were staring into a blade.
Lalia, who shared the sa eye color, cast her gaze toward him.
“So how do you intend to proceed, Brother? Can you draw Reschenhardt to your side? Astia will not allow you to lay even a finger on them.”
“If we can draw them in, it would be akin to grasping a mountain of gold. If not, that is acceptable as well. Better to remove them from reach than let them tip to one side.”
“Do you think Brother Belmaian Red Claw will remain idle?”
“Unlikely. He shows considerable interest in Astia. He may attempt to target her younger brother instead.”
The man turned his head without so much as glancing at the untouched teacup before him.
His hair was neatly swept behind his left ear, revealing an earring of gold chains that glead faintly.
“However, the temperant of Reschenhardt is as firm as dragon scales. The one standing behind my elder brother cannot possibly be unaware of that. There must be another sche at play.”
“Of course. With this latest rumor, it seems all but certain that he placed the curse upon Sister Agnes—”
“Quiet.”
He cut her off imdiately.
Though the “Curse of Deadly Poison” incident at Reschenhardt had set rumors flying across the Delvion continent, it was not a matter to speak of lightly.
Especially not in their position.
Lalia seed aware of that, for she closed her mouth and rely shrugged again.
“In any case, my elder brother’s path leads only to ruin. Whether he chooses mutual destruction or attempts to survive alone is another matter.”
“If it is Brother Tirgan, he will choose the latter. He will claim ignorance, sever the tail, and seek to climb upon the dragon’s back.”
“Yes. That would be like him.”
The man let out a short laugh.
“Milena.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Report every detail—who approaches him, what actions he takes. Omit nothing.”
“Understood, Your Highness Grancer.”
Grancer Delvion.
A scion of Delvion’s bloodline, inheritor of the brilliant achievents that conquered this vast continent.
The command of the Third Prince fell naturally from his lips, and Milena bowed at once.
***
Aquila Reschenhardt lay sprawled upon the bed, utterly motionless.
“I am dying…”
His shoulders rose and fell with each breath, but he had no desire to move so much as a finger.
This sensation…
It was akin to the day he had drained an entire bottle of strong liquor that had sat buried within a liberated mine.
Crippling dizziness. A splitting headache.
The slightest movent of his head felt as though soone were driving a spike into his brain, making him wish to stop breathing altogether.
“…This is worse than the teleportation circle in Igrail. That was re transportation. The magic circle at the gate must have been a scanning spell, sweeping through the body to detect irregularities.”
Though groaning softly, Aquila could not bring himself to change position.
Upon arriving at this inn—“Sol’s Heavenly Steps”—he had ultimately been forced to empty his stomach once.
Having eaten little during the long Wyvern flight and carriage ride, there had been little to expel.
Afterward, he went straight to bed.
In his present state, traveling onward to the lodgings reserved in Central Denimarad was impossible.
The capital was vast. He would need a carriage to move about—and he could not endure its shaking.
Careful not to jostle his head, Aquila reached into the inner pocket of his coat—where he had warned others not to touch—and retrieved the root of Belmaian’s Red Claw.
With practiced ease, he placed it between his molars and waited for the pain to subside.
“When I accumulate mana through breathing techniques, I am fine. But when external mana disrupts the internal flow… What I require is not reliance on dicine, but stabilization of the fracture caused by the collision of blessings.”
It was a matter that had to be resolved before traveling East.
If he were to suffer like this each ti he used a teleportation circle, he would spend more ti lying down than standing.
He chewed the root lightly.
Though firm, it had a slight give, almost like gum.
A bitter liquid with a faintly sweet aftertaste spread across his mouth.
The pain eased, and a cool sensation washed over his tongue.
He favored this particular herb; holding it between his teeth often sharpened his thoughts.
He let out a low murmur.
“The mont I entered Denimarad, reports must have been sent everywhere. For now, I should remain still…”
Vrrr—
Suddenly, mana stirred at his left wrist. A golden formula began to form.
The blue mana stone embedded within the Communication Bracelet vibrated faintly.
Soone was contacting him.
With greater ease than before, Aquila turned his head and accepted the transmission with a sigh.
“Oh my. I contacted you to check whether you had fainted. It appears you are alive.”
The smooth voice from the bracelet belonged, of course, to Holy Son Ianpel.
Aquila did not suppress the sigh that escaped him.
“I heard that your condition changed abruptly the mont you passed through the gate. Are you well?”
“Regrettably, my mind remains clear.”
“I know you are not well. Your body is sensitive to mana. That irritable magic circle must be the cause. I completely forgot to warn you. It is your first ti in the capital, after all.”
“Yes, well. How considerate of you.”
In truth, Aquila had co to the capital dozens of tis before—had even lived here.
But he had forgotten as well, so he had no grounds to complain.
A faint chuckle ca from the bracelet.
“I have just arrived in Denimarad myself. Quite perfect timing, would you not say?”
He had assud Ianpel arrived earlier, but it seed he too had only just reached the capital from Saintroia.
“I heard you were staying at an inn near the gate, so we are heading there as well.”
“…You personally? Would it not be better for you to proceed to the central district?”
Aquila frowned slightly.
It was already conspicuous enough that he had been brought into so random inn in this state.
Add to that the Holy Son—one of the most renowned figures in Delvion—and the attention would only multiply.
His red hair alone ensured he stood out wherever he went.
If Ianpel appeared as well—
“Oh, I have already inford the Second Commander. This is more a notice than a request. We have arrived.”
Neigh!
A horse whinnied sharply outside the window.
Voices rose in a flurry, and the exterior grew noisy in an instant.
Crack.
Without realizing it, Aquila bit clean through the root between his molars.
“…You truly do not listen.”
Clicking his tongue, he spat out the remaining fragnt.
***
Contrary to expectation, the commotion did not approach his room.
It seed to halt in the nearby corridor.
Voices rose—not whispers, but an argunt.
A surge of killing intent flared briefly before being forcefully suppressed.
“…What are they doing?”
The killing intent was unmistakably Cahena’s.
With a sigh, Aquila pushed himself upright.
The Red Claw root had dulled his headache.
Before its effect faded, he quickly adjusted his hair and strode toward the door.
Without hesitation, he opened it.
“What on earth were you thinking bringing—!”
Bang.
As the door swung open, familiar faces gathered nearby ca into view.
Shen, who had been raising his voice, startled and turned around.
“What are you doing?”
“Y-Young Master…!”
Shen flailed awkwardly, as though trying to conceal sothing.
Before Aquila could question him further, Ianpel leaned into view, waving lightly.
His neatly kept, water-colored hair swayed with the motion.
“It has been so ti, third blood of Reschenhardt. Your complexion remains poor. Are you certain you should be standing?”
“I was awakened by soone. I expected you to enter imdiately. What are you doing lingering?”
“I was speaking briefly with your people. A surprise gift requires permission, does it not?”
“Permission?”
“A surprise gift?! Are you truly referring to that man as a ‘surprise gift’?!” Shen burst out in outrage.
Yet his protest was cut short.
The mont Aquila spoke, soone pushed past the Temple Knight behind Ianpel and rushed forward.
“A-Ah! To think I would et you again like this…!”
Faded dark-blue hair.
Clouded yellow eyes gleaming with fervent desire fixed upon Aquila.
“Lord Claude…!”
A voice that should never have echoed here rang out brightly.
It was none other than Gilesha.
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