Sigrid Novel Chapter 51

After his father passed away, he might never be able to return to this estate. Morris even considered the possibility of being expelled from the family.

He had worried his father might die on the way down to the estate, but fortunately, they arrived safely. Now, seeing his father spend more days asleep than awake, Morris felt a pain in his chest.

Even if he was the worst father to his brother, he had been a good father to Morris.

His beloved father.

His mother was gentle, but fundantally indecisive. Perhaps that's why she matched well with his stubborn father.

Morris left his room.

The castle was quiet. All the funeral preparations were complete. The mourning clothes, black curtains, flags at half-mast, the coffin—

Morris knocked on the door.

"Who is it?"

"It's ."

After a pause, Morris opened the door.

"What is it?"

"Let's go see Father together."

"What?"

"I want to end our conversation in front of Father."

At those words, Amis glared fiercely at Morris before saying,

"Fine. Wait a mont."

Amis closed the door and ca out about fifteen minutes later, having changed his clothes. Morris silently let him walk ahead and followed.

The lord's room was at the highest point of the castle. Dismissing the guard, they entered to find the room dimly lit by candles, with curtains drawn.

"Amis, Morris."

Their mother, who had been nursing at the bedside, rose to greet her two sons.

"How is Father?"

To Amis's question, she replied with a gloomy face,

"Still the sa."

"Is he awake?"

At Morris's question, their mother nodded slightly. Morris, thinking it fortunate, approached the bedside.

"Father?"

At Morris's call, Viscount Deforest opened his eyes.

"Mo, rris......"

Morris's heart ached at his father's raspy voice. But there would be no other chance to speak. In fact, if he had been a bit braver earlier, they could have had this three-way conversation and he could have expressed his opinion.

Morris took his father's hand and said,

"Brother and I have co to tell you sothing."

As he said this, Morris motioned for Amis to co closer. Amis approached with an expressionless face and stood beside Morris. The Viscount coughed a few tis, then said,

"So...... you've finally decided...... to pass the title to your brother......"

Amis's lips tightened. Morris shook his head vigorously.

"That's not it."

"Or are you, cough, going to be unfilial...... to your dying father...... until the very end......"

"I am your firstborn son!"

Amis couldn't hold back and shouted.

"Useless fool."

At his dying father's contemptuous words from the sickbed, Amis's face turned bright red. It had always been like this. No matter what he did, he could never satisfy his father.

The only thing that would have satisfied his father was his own death.

'But why should I do that?'

He was the firstborn son of the Deforest family.

"Father, I ca to tell you clearly."

Morris spoke to the Viscount in a low but firm voice.

"I will not inherit the title. Even if my brother were to pass away, I will not succeed the viscounty. I will join the Imperial Knight and earn a small title of my own."

"You......!"

Surprised, Amis involuntarily turned to look at Morris. Morris looked at Amis and said,

"You can say whatever you want. You can mock

for being hypocritical, or dismiss

for pretending to be kind. But this is my true feeling. I want to get along well with you, brother. I've always envied other close siblings."

As he said this, Morris couldn't help but smile at Amis's contorting face.

"I know. You hate , brother. Regardless of what I've done to you. Perhaps our relationship would have been easier if I had truly hated you too. Anyway."

Morris took a deep breath and turned to his father.

The Viscount's eyes were wide open, his face completely distorted. To this father, Morris desperately tried to convey his will.

His father had loved him, but in his own way. Morris's opinions were never important to him. His father loved Morris in a way that satisfied himself, and Morris, in turn, tried to please his father by responding to that.

But now it was ti to directly oppose his father's will.

'I wish I could have done this earlier.'

Thinking this, Morris spoke resolutely,

"I'm sorry, Father. I will not beco a viscount. And you should be happy to welco my brother as the next viscount."

The Viscount stared at Morris without saying a word.

Morris flinched at that gaze. It wasn't the look his father usually gave him.

"Get out."

The Viscount said in a low voice, releasing his hand. Morris called out "Father," but the Viscount ignored him and said to Amis,

"You stay."

"!!"

Amis flinched in surprise. At those words, Morris carefully moved away from the bed and left the room. His mother's face, glimpsed briefly, was pale.

After leaving his father's bedroom, Morris didn't return to his own room. He stood next to the door of his father's bedroom, waiting for his brother to co out.

He had to confirm how this conversation ended.

Not long after, Amis opened the door and ca out.

"Brother."

Morris called out to him, pushing himself off the wall. Amis flinched at Morris's call and turned to look at him. Morris cautiously asked,

"What happened?"

Amis was silent for a long ti. He stood there with a strange expression, his lips tightly sealed. It was impossible to tell if things had gone well or not.

"If I were you."

Amis finally opened his mouth. Morris pricked up his ears.

"I'd run away right now."

"What?"

Morris asked in surprise, but that was the end of it. Amis walked quickly down the corridor and disappeared. Morris stood there blankly, feeling empty, before returning to his room.

—If I were you, I'd run away right now.

Why on earth would he say such a thing?

Back in his room, Morris paced for a long ti. Suddenly, he stopped in the middle of the room. A conversation with Alkerto ca to mind.

"Huh? So your father wants to make you the heir?"

Alkerto swirled his wine glass. Morris answered while pouring grape wine into the glass, thinking 'I should restrain myself a bit.'

"That's right."

"Then, um, sorry to say this, but— Wouldn't it be easier for your father to kill your brother?"

"Hey? That's my father and my brother you're talking about."

"Sorry, I guess that was too much?"

The conversation had ended there.

'Why did this conversation suddenly co to mind?' As he wondered this, a chill ran down Morris's spine. He gritted his teeth and began packing his belongings. As efficiently and lightly as possible—

Donning his fur cloak, Morris left his room. The castle was still quiet. He carefully tucked his luggage inside his cloak, out of sight, and made his way to the stables as calmly as possible.

He had to make a desperate effort not to run.

By the ti he reached the stables, his heart was already racing madly. Greeting the stable boy casually, Morris untied a horse and saddled it himself.

"There's a lot of snow piled up, where are you going?"

At the stable boy's worried words, Morris smiled and replied,

"I feel cooped up and want to get so fresh air for a bit."

The stable boy looked puzzled but obediently bowed his head. Morris kicked the horse's flank. The well-trained horse began to trot forward lightly.

Once he was so distance from the mansion, Morris pressed his upper body close to the horse and urged it to full speed.

'Let's stick to the road for now!'

How long would it take for his father to send soldiers to kill him?

He might order pursuit as soon as he hears that Morris took a horse. Or this could all be his own foolish delusion.

'Let it be a delusion.'

Let it be that he had fallen for his brother's nonsensical words. Morris prayed.

He hadn't thought of it. If his father changed his mind and nad his brother as the heir, he would beco an excellent rival, a threat to the heir.

Gritting his teeth, Morris kicked the horse's flank.

Even if that happened, his father wouldn't try to kill him. Just as his brother had remained alive until now.

But that might have been due to the strong belief that 'Morris would eventually overco Amis and beco the heir.'

What if the son he loved, right before his death, directly opposed his will? And thus destroyed all his plans?

'He'd want to kill .'

Morris thought, grinning. He laughed despite the situation. As if he couldn't control his laughter.

He must have told his brother clearly.

—Kill Morris.

Morris gritted his teeth. Let it be his own absurd thought, a misconception.

But before the sun set, he realized it was true.

"Huff, huff—"

Morris panted heavily. The snow that had beautifully covered everything now beca shackles tornting him. The fertile soil of the east mixed with lted snow to beco a muddy quagmire, and the horse could no longer run.

It was pitiful to push the horse any further, and it was too much to make it walk through the mud while carrying his weight.

Morris pulled on the reins and walked through the mud.

He wanted to escape to the mountains, but that was impossible due to the tracks he would leave in the snow.

'I should have brought so food.'

The mud also left too many traces.

Whoosh—

At that mont, sothing white fell before his eyes. Morris looked up, unsure whether to cheer or scream.

Heavy snow began to fall.

Halfway through, Morris gave up on the horse. He couldn't feed it anyway, and it was difficult to make it walk through the deep snow. Patting the tired horse, Morris whispered,

"Go ho. You've done well."

Morris began walking through the snow-white forest, sinking with each step, wearing snow shoes. He was thankful that snow shoes ca as a set with winter riding gear.

The winter sun soon set, and Morris huddled inside his fur cloak.

'I'm going to die.'

Realizing he would freeze to death if he fell asleep like this, Morris desperately fought against the urge to sleep. As he shook his head to stay awake, he saw a light flickering in the distance.

His whole body stiffened.

Squinting, he saw they were torches.

More than a dozen torches were scattered about.

"Catch him! If he tries to escape, shoot him on the spot!"

It was a familiar voice.

'Brother.......'

Morris huddled even tighter. He didn't know whether to move from here or wait for them to pass. One of the torches turned in his direction.

Morris gripped his sword handle and held his breath.

By the torchlight, he could easily recognize the face of the approaching figure.

It was Amis.

Morris's heart raced madly. His hand gripping the sword handle tensed involuntarily. But soon, Morris let go of the handle.

He couldn't fight him.

As he looked for a way to escape, Amis drew closer and closer. Morris gave up on escape as well. Amis raised his torch high.

The brothers' eyes t.

They stared at each other in silence for a long ti. Amis took out a wallet from his belt, tossed it onto the snow, and turned around, walking away while shouting,

"There's nothing here! You idiots, look harder! We must catch Morris!"

The soldiers responded in unison.

"Let's search that mountain over there!"

At Amis's words, the torches began moving en masse towards the opposite mountain. Morris reached out and picked up the wallet. The heavy wallet was full of gold coins. He stuffed it into his chest and began frantically crossing the mountain.

He didn't intend to stop until he fainted.

Amis stopped and looked back. His brother must be desperately crossing through that dark, snowy forest right now.

After Morris left the room, the Viscount beckoned Amis to co closer.

"Amis....... my son......."

His chest swelled at being called thus by his father for the first ti. He couldn't tell if it was joy or surprise.

"Your brother...... is too weak......."

Gasping for breath, the Viscount reached out his hand. As Amis reflexively grasped it, fingers like dry twigs gripped his hand tightly. It was hard to believe this was the strength of a dying man.

"Kill Morris."

Amis barely managed to maintain his composure. Looking into his father's eyes, gleaming with betrayal and hatred, he thought,

'In the end, I'm nothing to Father.'

His father chose him because of his sense of betrayal towards Morris.

"Darling—!"

His mother let out a scream-like voice upon hearing those words. The Viscount ignored his wife and said,

"As soon as you leave, call for Knight Dura. Capture Morris. There will surely be factions supporting Morris. Go finish the job and return to receive my blessing, my son."

Wheezing, the Viscount barely finished his long speech and released his hand.

Amis stood for a mont, looking down at his father. A thin, withered old man with liver spots.

Why had he struggled so hard to gain this person's approval?

Suddenly, it felt as if scales had fallen from his eyes. His vision beca clear.

Thinking this, Amis turned his gaze forward.

There was no need to grant the wish of that dying old man.

????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

The only thing Sigrid could do in the confined castle was practice swordsmanship. She even felt more focused here than when she was in the capital.

She would wake up at dawn, check with Beramund if there were any special duties, then imdiately go down to the training ground for stretching to improve flexibility and light exercises to warm up her body before breakfast. The diet was ager, but Sigrid had survived on combinations of water and bread, water and potatoes before.

'Still, it seems my body is struggling a bit, even though my palate has beco more refined in the anti.'